


Boys Of Summer

by WinterLanding



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BAMF Arya Stark, Bodyguard Sandor Clegane, F/M, Joffrey Baratheon is His Own Warning, Loss of Virginity, Minor Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell, POV Sandor Clegane, POV Sansa Stark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:15:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 36
Words: 83,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25943461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterLanding/pseuds/WinterLanding
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 119
Kudos: 175





	1. Chapter 1

It was the day of the Summer Solstice Luncheon at Casterly Rock Country Club. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and Winter was long gone. 

Sansa Stark sat at her white vanity, surrounded by cosmetics. She’d been invited personally by Joffrey Baratheon to attend.  


Joffrey, the most eligible bachelor in all of Westeros. He could have had his pick for the start of the season, yet he’d chosen Sansa Stark. 

Certain measures must be taken. This was not a day for fun and leisure; it was an opportunity that she had to make the most of.

Arya made fun of her, but Arya didn’t have the burden of being the eldest daughter on her shoulders. Arya could carry on, act like a hellion, come home with black eyes and taped knuckles from boxing; it was Sansa who had to carry the burden of doing everything that was expected of her, to behave like a lady and get everything right. 

Like today. For a day by the pool, naturally, Sansa had on a full face of makeup. 

Of course, it was applied with a light hand and intended to look as natural as possible, but it had taken nearly an hour to achieve this “effortless” look. Normally, Sansa stuck with the basics and kept her makeup very simple, but today she wanted to glow, to radiate summery warmth.

She’d attempted bronzer, but that had been garish on her skin. Luckily, a rosy pop of blush against the apples of her cheeks had done wonders, along with the subtle gold highlight she’d applied above it.  


She’d used a setting spray that brides normally used on their wedding days, in hopes of keeping everything in place. 

Also in hopes that she might have an opportunity to use it again for its intended reason, but she wasn’t going to get ahead of herself. 

Sansa had arranged her long red hair into a high ponytail, the ends flowing into artfully mussed waves, another task that had taken her almost another hour.

Hopefully, it would all be worth the effort.  


This was her second date with Joff. The last one had could have easily ended in disaster due to Joffrey’s excessive drinking, followed by his pawing Sansa for the entirety of the ride back home, but she’d handled it. 

She got them out of the restaurant and into the car without a scene and stood her ground when Joffery had manhandled her in the backseat. Instead of slapping him, she’d allowed a few chaste kisses. 

It had not been easy, but she had managed to stay calm. The next day, a dozen red roses showed up for her, simply signed Joffrey, and she’d accepted the apology he didn’t give. Next time she would help curtail the drinking, and it would be fine. Joffrey was only out of line when he pursued his vices in excess. Sansa understood this now, and she could manage him. It would be Sansa that kept him out of the tabloids and away from the gossips who swore Joffrey would ruin both the good names of the Baratheon and Lannister lineage. She could be his greatest asset, not encourage his habits like those silly girls whom he’d squired about, the ones only interested in what good time his money could buy for the evening. Sansa was a long term investment, one who would yield great return. 

Sansa, caught up in her future Mrs. Baratheon fantasy, drifted over to her closet and reached for her new swimsuit. It was a deep navy blue, a bit more modest than she would have liked, but she’d picked it out while shopping with her mother.  


Catelyn Stark had gently overruled the bikinis Sansa had in mind, and Sansa did have to agree that the suit was flattering. The blue color complimented her skin and hair nicely, and the style was flattering to her long legs. 

Sansa adjusted the suit, gazing into her long antique mirror, tugging and trying to make sure it was secure while still flattering at every angle. 

Making sure she had everything she needed in her designer tote, Sansa tied on her matching cover-up, took a deep breath, and left her room. Her Tory Burch sandals dangled from her hand. 

She padded downstairs where she heard her mother’s pleading tone. 

“Arya, for goodness sake. All I need you to do is simply remain here until Joffrey and Sansa leave. You don’t even have to speak, just stand there and appear pleasant. I’m asking very little.”

“I can’t stand Joffrey Baratheon,” Sansa heard Arya groan. “He is such an asshole.”

“Arya! Language!”

“Well, it’s true, mom. He’s a total jerk to everyone, unless he’s being all charming andsucking up to get something he wants. It’s pretty scary, If you ask me, and I think he’s a total psycho. I can’t believe you’re _encouraging_ Sansa to date him.”

Catelyn sighed. “How can you possibly know so much about him if you can barely tolerate him? You’ve spent less than 5 minutes in his presence, Arya.”

“I see things, Mom. I observe. And he’s no good. Trust me.”

There was a rustle and Sansa instinctively knew her mom was cleaning something out of frustration. 

“Sansa seems fond of him, Arya. And he seems fond of her. I would like to think your sister has a decent judge of character, and would know if Joffrey Baratheon was, as you put it, a total psycho.”

“Sansa sees his name, and his money, and everything that comes with it. She doesn’t even  _know_ him! Honestly, how can you both be so _blind_? I can’t be the only one who sees the truth. He’s a dick!”

“Arya.” Catelyn’s voice was sharp, a tone that would tolerate no more argument. “You are staying here until your sister is gone. You will smile, and be courteous. _Then_ you can go to the gym. Understood?”

Sansa decided to take pity on Arya and her mother. She made a great show of coming down the landing loudly, swinging her bag so the items inside clinked. 

She joined the two in the kitchen. Arya was dressed in her usual tomboy style, her short hair scraped back into a tiny ponytail at the nape of her neck. Her dark brown eyes met Sansa’s blue ones, and she looked away in annoyance.  


Catelyn was dressed for a casual day at home, which meant a dove gray pair of pressed linen pants and a silky green shirt with capped sleeves. Sansa had never seen her mother wear yoga pants or anything overly causal. Not even to garden. Even now, Catelyn was scrubbing the already sparkling clean counter, her sleek, long red tresses swinging in time with her effort. 

Catelyn noticed Sansa and smiled, only a touch of strain showing in her eyes. “Sansa, you look lovely. Did you remember your sunscreen?”

Arya began to smirk.

“Yes, I’m coated in it,” Sansa hastily replied. 

When you were as fair as she was, it only took a few minutes too long in the sun to end up regretting it. She’d had a few unfortunate mishaps with this, and Arya had delighted in teasing Sansa about the times her skin nearly turned the same color as her hair.

“You were right about the blue”, Sansa told her mother, changing the subject. “It’s more flattering than the others I had in mind.”

Catelyn smiled fully, her argument with Arya forgotten. 

“I knew the moment I saw it that the blue was perfect for you. I am so glad we went with that one. Today is an exciting day, isn’t it? A big day.” 

Sansa fought the urge to bite her lip. She always felt a flutter of anxiety when Catelyn talked like this. Somehow her mother wanted this pairing as badly as Sansa did, possibly even more. 

Arya rolled her eyes behind their mother’s back, and Sansa frowned. Arya was always so difficult. Arya didn’t understand  anything . 

Luckily, soon after that moment, Ned Stark strolled in from the backyard, trailed by Bran and Rickon. 

“Oh, good,” Catelyn breathed in relief. “Everyone is here. Joffrey will be here any moment for Sansa.” 

She hurried toward the boys, checking them for any smudges of dirt. 

“Not everyone,” Ned reminded her in his quiet,deep voice. “Jon and Robb aren’t here.”

He winked at his children. Ned liked to tease Catelyn when she was feeling particularly high strung. 

Catelyn’s eyes fluttered just a bit at the mention of Jon, as they always did, but she held on to her composure. 

“Well, perhaps the older ones can be excused in their absence,” she answered lightly. “They’re men now, really, and lead lives of their own.”

“Quite true,” Ned acquiesced, with a smile. “It makes a man feel old, all these children growing up so quickly.” 

He also knew when not to push his wife. 

A soft bell chimed, indicating that someone had passed the gate and was coming up their drive. 

“They’re here,” Catelyn said. “I think it would be best to meet them in the front room, don’t you?” She might have been asking Ned, but nobody answered, just did as she said. 

Arya sighed but followed everyone into the highly-polished front parlor, practically dragging her feet.

Sansa felt a flutter of nerves. Her hand automatically went to her hair to smooth it. 

“Don’t fidget,” Catelyn told Sansa softly, catching her hand gently before it wrecked herponytail. “You look beautiful, and you are the equal of anyone you’ll meet today. Don’t forget that.” 

Sansa blushed faintly at the error. She knew not to fidget, but her nerves had gone into overdrive. She took a deep breath and prayed to all the gods that she wouldn’t make any silly mistakes today. 

The doorbell finally sounded, and their housekeeper went to answer it. 

“Joffrey Baratheon, to fetch Sansa.” A gruff voice sounded from the doorway. 

Their housekeeper paused just a beat too long, then answered, “Of course. This way, please.” 

Joffrey, dressed in sleek linen slacks and a crisp shirt, strolled into their sitting room as if he had visited them a thousand times, a jovial grin upon his face. 

Joffrey was flanked by a Baratheon family friend, Meryn Trant, a cold looking man Sansa could never feel entirely easy around, and of course Joffrey’s personal body guard, Sandor Clegane. 

Well, that must have been the reason for the housekeeper’s pause. Sandor Clegane was not a man you passed a glance over easily. 

He was tall, a whole head taller than Joffrey. His shoulders were broad, his entire body thick with muscle. He looked like he ate whole chickens for breakfast and bench-pressed cars for sport. He wore a perpetual look of disdain, his eyes were a steely smoke-gray color, and his rich brown hair was worn longer than fashionable, to his collar.

This was likely his attempt at camouflage. The entire right side of his face was covered in burn scars. It was a sight that people gaped at. It looked as if someone had tried to melt his face off. 

Over the years, Sansa had heard that he’d tried different procedures to improve upon his appearance, smoothing the scars somewhat, but finally gave up and left them alone. 

It did add to his intimidating appearance, and one did need to be intimidating when one was in the employ of the Baratheon family, charged with the protection of their oldest son, heir to the Baratheon and Lannister family fortune. 

“Hello,” Joffrey sang winningly as he came forward. He smiled charmingly at Sansa, then turned to shake Ned’s hand. 

“Joffrey, it’s a pleasure to see you. How is your father?” Ned automatically took Joff’s hand with ease. 

Ned and Robert Baratheon had been friends growing up, had pledged to the same fraternity at King’s University, and fought together in the military, before they’d made their own way in the world. 

This was bit of Sansa’s leverage with Joffrey. Familial ties, bonds forged and passed down. 

It seemed right, natural that Joffrey be taken with Sansa, and she with him. Both were attractive, from good families, had expensive educations, and they’d known practically since birth what was expected of them. Sansa was gently bred and an excellent option for Joffrey, who was reaching the age where his father was urging him to settle down and marry. 

“Are you ready?” Joff queried. His eyes swept over Sansa warmly, breaking her out of her musings.

Sansa have him her best smile, nodding. 

Joffrey took her bag from her to carry as they said their goodbyes to her family and headed toward his Range Rover. 

He opened the back door for her, and waited until she slid in before shutting it carefully.

Such a gentleman, Sansa thought. She adored sweet gestures.

Stowing her bag in the hatch, Joffrey walked to the other side and got in beside her. 

Trant got in the driver’s side and started up the car, the A/C blowing blessedly in the stifled warmth. Sansa hoped her hair didn’t frizz and her face wouldn’t get shiny. 

Clegane rode shotgun, and Sansa was sure that his position was more than just a euphemism. 

Everyone fastened their seatbelts.Clegane turned to look around as Trant backed out and began the descent down the Stark’s gray cobblestone driveway. 

“Don’t point your ugly face back here, Dog,” Joffrey snapped. “You might scare Sansa.”

Joffrey winked at her, and Sansa managed a weak smile. She looked down and made a show of smoothing her coverup over her legs, in order to hide her stunned expression. 

How Joffrey could be so cruel to the man tasked to protect him? It unsettled her, such needless humiliation. Also, why did Joffrey have to drag Sansa into it? She barely knew the man, and he couldn’t help that his face was scarred. 

“You look amazing,” Joffrey’s low, seductive tone broke into Sansa’s thoughts, as he swung fully back into his charming self. “That color is perfect on you.”

Sansa fought between her apprehension over the comment to Clegane, and her thrill of excitement at the compliment. 

“You’re so sweet,” Sansa told him. “Thank you for inviting me today.” She forced herself to remember her courtesies.   
  


“I wouldn’t have wanted to invite anyone else,” Joff told her with an easy smile. “The first event of my favorite season, and the most beautiful girl as my date? I’m the lucky one.”

Sansa all but beamed, and soon she had nearly forgotten all about his cruel remark to Clegane.


	2. Chapter 2

Casterly Rock was close to the shoreline, boasting well manicured lawns, an award winning golf course, and sweeping grounds that led up to an enormous, ancient stone manor, complete with modern furnishings. 

Beyond the beautiful landscape, the sea crashed against the stone cliffs that surrounded the land. Occasionally Sansa could see the spray rise, just for the moment. 

“This is so beautiful,” Sansa spoke, hushed in awed honesty. The contrast of the wild sea and the posh holding was incredible. It seemed the height of sophistication and power, to tame the land here. 

Joff’s eyes roamed restlessly about the setting and settled back in his seat. 

“I’m glad you think so,” he answered politely, as they pulled into the half circle in front of an elegant section of the manor called the clubhouse.

Then his attention was drawn to two people standing out front. “Oh, the Tyrells are here! I wasn’t sure if they would make it.” 

Sansa felt her heart sink as Joff slid from the vehicle, which pulled directly in front of where Margery Tyrell stood, laughing with her brother, Loras. 

Margery looked like something straight from a fashion editorial, just barely wrapped up in skimpy black bikini. An impossibly sheer black caftan billowed around her hourglass frame, and delicate gold sandals rounded out her ensemble. She wore hardly any makeup on her flawless skin, just a bold red lip, and her auburn hair was smoothed into a sleek chignon. 

Sansa felt prim and stuffy in her modest blue two piece. But nothing could be done about it now. 

She tried not to watch as Joffrey opened the hatch of the car, responding enthusiastically to Margery’s friendly greeting. He got Sansa’s bag out and came round to open her door. He took her hand and she smiled warmly at him, letting him help her from the car. 

Sansa took her bag and walked with him toward the Tyrells. 

“So glad you two could come!” Joffrey enthused. “How is your grandmother?”

“Her usual spirited self,” Margery answered with a tinkling laugh. “She’s inside with your mother, chatting her ear off, I’m sure. We should probably save her, don’t you think?”

“Mother could do with some spirited conversation,” Joffrey answered in a dry tone. “Let’s see how she’s faring.” 

Sansa was left to trail Joffrey and Margery, Loras by her side. Sansa had to admit that it wasn’t a hardship, to stroll in with Loras. He was as handsome as she’d remembered. Maybe even more so. 

“Sansa, it’s so good to see you. How have you been?” Loras had a smile that could melt even the hardest of hearts. Sansa was compelled to smile and return the courtesy. 

“Fantastic, now that school is out for the summer.”

“You’re studying...?”

“Journalism.”

Loras shot an eyebrow up. 

“People automatically think I’m going to write for a gossip column when I say that,” Sansa chuckled ruefully. “Or they assume that I’m aiming towards becoming a fashion and beauty editor? I know what people think about someone like me, but maybe I’ll surprise them.”

Loras laughed. “People thought I was going to become a monk when I told them I was studying religion and philosophy. So I can appreciate where you’re coming from.”

Sansa smiled. “You seem to have done well for yourself, despite not becoming a monk. How have you been, anyway?”

Loras smirked, eyes flickering toward the pair in front of him, and back to Sansa. 

“I’ve been well, until now, when I was relegated to third wheel. I’m so glad you’re here.” He rolled his eyes playfully. 

Sansa tried not to show how much his words stung. So they were to play second fiddle to Margery and Joffery today? 

Not if Sansa had her way.

Since Joffery and Margery had barely paused in their animated chatter, Sansa kept the conversation going. “How is life at FOTS, Loras?”

“Well, I’ve been working mainly in the office, truth be told,” Loras answered. “Apprentice duties, but you’ve got to got to start somewhere.” 

At the mention of the Faith of the Seven, Margery turned and gave her brother a weary look. 

“Loras has a notion that he should earn his way, from the ground up. He thinks he has to prove himself. He’s too modest.” She gave her brother a fond glance and winked at Sansa. “Sansa maybe you can talk some sense into him, because nobody else can.”

Sansa became quite annoyed that Margery had decided that bringing her handsome brother along with her today as a distraction was her best course of action. 

Two could play that game. 

“Joffrey was telling me that there is a lot of distraction to be found at Casterly Rock. Maybe we’ll find something to take your mind off work, Loras.”

Joffery immediately perked up. He gave Loras a conspiratorial smirk. 

“Absolutely,” he enthused, falling back to put himself between Sansa and Loras. “When was the last time you went golfing, Loras?”

Since Joffery and Loras were still in conversation, Margery had no choice but to allow Sansa to remain at Joffery’s side all the way into the dining area. Joffery automatically pulled out the chair to his right for Sansa and she sat in it gracefully. 

Margery took her place to the left of Loras, who remained beside Joff. She gave Sansa a calculated, sidelong glance, though she never wavered from her charming demeanor. 

Sansa felt relief at her small victory, though she knew the day was far from over. 

As if on cue, Cersei Lannister Baratheon sailed their way, beautiful in her flowing summer dress, a small glass tumbler of a clear liquid in her hand. Her long golden hair rippled down her back, her piercing green eyes shrewd, missing nothing. They lit up when she saw her beloved oldest child. 

Following a few paces behind, quietly dignified and stoic, was Olenna Tyrell, grandmother of Margery and Loras. 

Joffery stood to greet his mother, kissing her cheek dutifully, then making sure she and Olenna were seated comfortably before he took his seat once more. 

Olenna looked quite annoyed that Margery was seated beside Loras and not Joffery.She shot her granddaughter a look that Sansa was glad to not be on the receiving end of. But Olenna’s expression quickly smoothed, and she gave the group a deceptively gentle smile. 

Cersei, for her part, simply looked amused. 

“It’s wonderful to see you all here,” Cersei intoned in her cultured drawl. “It really livens up our dull existence, all these fresh young faces, on such a pretty day.” Cersei took a long swallow of her drink. 

“I couldn’t agree more,” Olenna told them. “Though Cersei is hardly one to complain about being dull. I’m holding onto that category, not that I mind it. I’m happy to leave the young people to their amusements.” She took a slow sip from her own glass of red wine. 

Joff raised his eyebrows waggishly. “Mother, you and Mrs. Tyrell would run circles around us. You both have more spirit than the lot of us combined.”

“I’ll not argue that,” Olenna responded, taking another sip of wine. “Although Cersei might not admit it, I’d wager she couldn’t argue that point, either.”

A waiter came and took drink orders, returning with vodka sodas for the ladies, whiskey neat for the men. 

Cersei leaned back in her seat, still gripping her drink, as she gave her companions a tight smile. 

“What are you all planning for today?” she asked. “The pool looks very...inviting.” 

She gave Margery’s skimpy swimsuit and sheer cover a thoughtful glance. 

Smiling sweetly, Cersei turned to Sansa. “Sansa, I love your swimsuit. It’s lovely. The color is just perfect on you.”

It was eerily similar to what Joffrey had told her earlier. Sansa nearly choked on her drink at the familiar words, along with the small slight toward Margery. 

“That’s so kind of you,” she told Cersei as diplomatically as she could manage. “I’ve always loved blue.”

Cersei’s eyes glowed, and Olenna fairly fumed.

“The pool does sound wonderful,” Loras quickly intervened. “I saw it when we arrived. It was blue as well, and almost as refreshing as Sansa.”

Score one for Loras, Sansa thought in amusement. 

“Shall we go?” Joffrey didn’t miss a beat. 

The young people stood, and took their leave. 

Sansa inwardly sighed with relief. Being around Cersei was a bit terrifying, and left her on edge. 

Joffery placed his hand on the small of Sansa’s back as they turned toward the doors that swept open to the pool area. A small token for the benefit of others, she was certain. Sansa began to wonder exactly who’s idea it had been for her invitation today. 

People were already gathered by the pool, basking in the warmth of the sun. Sansa saw a few familiar faces and offered them a greeting or a smile as Joff led them to his family’s cabana, by the head of the pool. 

Meryn  Trant was already there, posted at a patio table in the shade. He wore linen and looked impossibly cool despite the heat. 

Meryn had always made Sansa uncomfortable, but she she couldn’t exactly pinpoint why. He wasn’t friendly, and always looked as if everything hoisted upon him was a major inconvenience, but that wasn’t what bothered Sansa. Something was off about the man, she was sure of it. 

Arya claimed that Trant was a truly evil man, but wouldn’t go into details when Sansa pressed further.

“He’s sick, Sansa. I’ve heard some truly sick things about him, and I hope to the Gods that they aren’t true. That’s all I’m saying.” Arya shuddered as she relayed this information. 

Sansa knew that whatever Arya had heard must be pretty bad if it turned her scrappy sister’s stomach. She hadn’t asked again. 

Joffery lead the party into the shade and they settled in with their drinks. 

Loras and Joffery had taken up talking about dealings with one of their many holdings, leaving the two women to their own devices. 

Margery, ever the social butterfly, turned to Sansa with her customary smirk. 

“Would you want to walk with me a bit? These two would be at it all day, and I’d hate to talk about stocks here on such a beautiful day.”

Joffery chuckled. “Go for your walk, just don’t forget about us along the way.”

“Now that,” Margery stood, displaying an eyeful of her ample cleavage as she reached for her sunhat, “would be impossible.” She favored the men with a bright smile and scooted along, linking her arm with Sansa’s as they strolled along the pool. 

“Want to walk in the gardens? It’s shaded.” Margery told her. 

“Perfect,” Sansa agreed. The heat and vodka were going straight to her head. Maybe some cool air would help. Also, she was curious as to why Margery had pulled her away from the group. 

Sansa and Margery walked in companionable silence for a few minutes through the impressive gardens, occasionally commenting on the flowers that caught their eye. 

“I love roses”, Margery proclaimed, stopping beside a rose bush that held rich scarlet blooms. “They look so delicate, but they’re stronger than anyone thinks. And of course the thorns. You’ve got to watch out for the thorns.” 

Margery gave Sansa a sly look. “How long have you and Joffrey been seeing one another?” 

Here we go, Sansa thought to herself warily. 

“I’m not asking to be a mean-girl type. You know, the whole ‘I’m going to become your friend then steal your boyfriend’ routine? That’s not what I’m getting at. I’m curious, that’s all.” Margery seemed so sincere that Sansa found herself almost believing her. 

Sansa shrugged elegantly. “We’ve haven’t really been seeing one another that long, truth be told. Not counting social gatherings with our families. We went to dinner last weekend. Today would be our second...date, I suppose. If you want to call it a date.” 

Margery smiled at Sansa encouragingly. “He’s picked you up and taken you out twice now? Of course it’s a date. Joffrey wouldn’t have asked you if he didn’t want to see you.” 

Or if he hadn’t felt obligated to, a small voice nagged at her. 

“Maybe”, Sansa smiled enigmatically. 

Margery bumped Sansa with her hip gently. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Bless her heart, my grandmother, would love to see me wedded to Joffrey before the summer is finished. But I’m in no hurry for that. Besides,” she continued, winking at Sansa. “Joffrey does have a brother. He’s very handsome. And he seems incredibly sweet.” 

Sansa couldn’t keep a giggle from slipping out. “Tommen? He can’t even buy you a drink yet. He just turned 20.”

Margery laughed. “Even better. I’m only 24. Like I said, I don’t mind waiting. I’m not looking for any serious relationship at the moment. I’m...keeping my options open.” Margery fluttered her fingers in the air playfully. 

Sansa suddenly remembered Margery’s engagement to Renly Baratheon, Joffery’s young uncle. It was a short lived affair, cut off abruptly when he was mysteriously killed outside of his penthouse a few years back. 

“I get it,” Sansa responded, feeling bad for teasing Margery. “Maybe waiting for Tommen isn’t the worst idea.”

Margery’s eyes danced with mischief. “I’m not opposed to a younger man this time around.”

Sansa couldn’t help but laugh aloud. She felt sorry that this particular situation was designed to pit them against one another. In other circumstances, she would have liked to become friends with someone like Margery. 

They circled back to the pool, and headed towards the cabana where Sansa was dismayed to see that Joffrey was on what looked to be his third whiskey. 

Joff watched as they stepped into the shaded area, leering at the girls with booze-hazed eyes. “Am I already seeing double, or are there really two gorgeous creatures in here with us, Loras?”

Margery laughed lightly at the corny line. “Such a flirt. I think we could all do with a dip in the pool, if everyone is in agreement. It’s so warm!”

Margery let her thin coverup slide down her body, fluttering carelessly to the chaise beneath her. 

Sansa wondered how Joffrey was keeping his tongue in his mouth as he ogled Margery’s body in her skimpy string bikini. 

Privately, Sansa was thankful that Margery provided the distraction as she removed her own coverup and folded it into her bag neatly. 

Perhaps the cool water would clear Joff’s head.


	3. Chapter 3

Loras sauntered to the deep in of the pool, the very picture of male beauty. He dove into the water gracefully, barely making a splash. The water rippled as he swam toward Sansa and Margery, breaking the surface with a grin. 

“Exactly as I’d imagined,” he announced breathlessly, water dripping down his face. “Refreshing.”

“Show-off,” Margery laughed. “I’ll not be diving in as well, sorry to disappoint everyone. That’s not my style.”

Sansa smiled eagerly, heading toward the edge of the pool. She dipped her toes in the water.

“Oh, it’s cold,” she squealed. “I thought you said it would be refreshing, Loras. I think you meant ice cold. Or freezing.”

Loras laughed and splashed her lightly.

Sansa bent to dip her toe in the pool once again. 

Suddenly, a shove from behind knocked her off balance. Sansa barely had time to gasp as she hit the cold water and was plunged beneath the surface. 

She stood up immediately, trying not to splutter and cough. Water streamed over her as it had Loras, though she was certain the effect was far less sexy and appealing. She smoothed her hair back, trying to regain her composure, hoping she didn’t look like a bedraggled sea creature. 

Once she could see clearly again, Sansa blinked up at Joffrey, who was cackling like a mischievous child. 

“The look on your face!” He cried, slapping his leg. He glanced around for someone to share his mirth, but only Trant was laughing along with him. Margery and Loras were staring at Joffrey in disbelief. 

Sandor Clegane had moved closer. His hands were tensed into fists, which he relaxed as soon as he saw Sansa watching. 

Joffrey slapped his guard on the upper arm. “Well, I was wrong. She can swim after all.”

Sandor nodded stiffly and returned to his position. He frowned at Sansa in a frightful manner, though she couldn’t see what she had done to offend him. 

Sansa fixed a carefree smile upon her face.  


Margery scurried down the ladder quickly and into the pool,before she fell into Joff’s sights. 

“Joffrey, you’re mean,” Margery admonished lightly. “My bikini wouldn’t have stayed on if you had pushed  _me_ in!”

Joff leered in a drunken manner.

“Oh well, next time.” He jiggled his empty whiskey glass. “I’m going for a refill.”

As soon as he was gone, Margery slid through the water over to Sansa, her face a tight mask of sympathy. 

“What a stupid, childish prank”, Margery whispered. “Are you all right?”

Sansa forced a bright smile. “I’m fine. But how’s my makeup?”

Margery checked her over. “Fine, actually. You might just need a touch of something on your lips. You’ve actually kind of got the mermaid look going on. I’m impressed.”

Margery pulled a tube of lip gloss from her cleavage. “Here, use this.”

Sansa laughed at Margery’s ingenuity, but took the tube, hastily applying the product. 

Margery watched her. “Perfect,” she proclaimed, tucking the lip gloss away again. “Your hair should dry fine, too.”

“Thank you,” Sansa responded sincerely. She was ashamed of her initial annoyance at what she had deemed the Tyrell’s intrusion on her day with Joff. Truth be told, she was quite thankful they’d joined them today. 

Joff’s return did not bolster Sansa’s mood, but she didn’t allow it to show in her expression. He smirked at her, and Sansa returned the look with a sweet, serene smile. 

Joffrey flopped himself down on a chair, watching the others wade. 

“I’m bored,” he drawled, draining his glass. “Trant, find us some nose candy. Oh, and those girls we saw the other day? See if they’re around. I’m not in the mood for a tea party,” he added, with a malicious glance at Sansa. 

Sansa felt her stomach clench. She had bored Joffrey and spoiled the day.

Margery and Loras exchanged a look. Loras hastily swam to the side of the pool, lifting himself up effortlessly, and heading toward the chaise he and Margery had claimed. He shook out a towel and dried himself briskly. 

Joffrey leaned his head toward Loras, a wicked smile lighting up his face. 

“Someone’s eager,” he said. 

Loras laughed, shaking his head. 

Joff turned his head to face Margery and Sansa, still in the pool. 

“You ladies up for a few rounds of golf?”

Margery smiled flirtatiously at Joffery. 

“Do we look like we’re dressed for golf?”

Joffrey rolled his eyes. “You can just ride in the cart.”

“All right,” Margery said easily. She turned to Sansa. “Let’s go.”

Sansa scurried out of the pool after Margery. 

After they toweled off, they donned their wraps and sandals. 

After they dressed, Sansa ran her comb through her hair, braiding it with deft fingers, while Margery released her sleek bun, allowing her hair to spill out in waves. She touched up her red lips, subduing the bright color a bit.

The girls hurried to the green, where Joffrey and Loras were entertaining two giggling girls in tight golf skirts and too much makeup. 

“There you are,” Joffrey had an almost manic now look to him now. Sansa tried not to think too much about why that might be. 

“Sansa, Margery, this is Kelsey and Ashley,” he swept his hand grandly toward the girls in front of him.

“Hello,” Margery said, in a perfectly pleasant tone. 

The girls pursed their lips in mockery of a smile, returning their adoring gazes toward Joffrey and Loras.

Sansa fought from rolling her eyes. 

“Sorry girls, I’m afraid I’ve got some important guests to entertain.” Joff wandered toward a golf cart parked next to a very nervous looking caddy.

Loras flashed an apologetic smile at the pouting girls and followed as well.

The afternoon passed slowly. 

Sansa felt nearly bored to tears. It helped that Margery seemed to feel the same, barely restraining her sighs and discreetly checking the time on her phone. The girls made small talk, until that even lost its appeal. Then there was nothing to do but wait. 

Joffrey danced around after making a particularly impressive shot. “Did you see that?!” He pumped his fist in the air and jumped in excitement.

“Well done.” Sansa smiled at his enthusiasm. 

“ Well done ,” he mocked her, his mood changing drastically. “That was a once in a lifetime shot! All you can say is ‘well done’? Honestly, Sansa,” Joffrey tossed his club to his ever-anxious caddy who caught it deftly. “Pretty stupid. Pretty, but stupid.” He smiled at his own pun. 

Sansa fought to keep her smile fixed to her face. “I don’t know much about golf, to be honest. I was happy because you were happy.”

Joffrey groaned. “Please stop talking.”

Sansa waited until he turned around and let her face fall. 

She was really screwing up the afternoon. 

Margery squeezed Sansa’s hand in a quick, sympathetic manner. Somehow that didn’t really help.

Finally, 9 holes of golf were finished and Margery waxed enthusiasm at the remarkable game that Joff and Loras had played. Sansa was more restrained in her praise this time.

“Loras, you’re better than I expected. Did you play often with my Uncle Renly?” Joff asked as the caddy took their clubs.

“Yes, actually. We played often.” Loras answered, darting a glance at Margery. A shadow of pain flittered across his eyes, almost too quick to be noticeable. 

“Time well spent,” Joffrey assured him. “Well, should we get ready for dinner? You girls brought dinner clothes, I assume?”

After changing, the group headed in to dinner and joining Cersei and Olenna. Meryn Trant was nowhere to be seen, but Sandor Clegane was, as usual, ever present and a discreet distance away from Joffery. 

Cersei looked quite drunk. She smiled occasionally, and only spoke when spoken to. Robert spoke enough for the both of them, which may have been the reason Olenna was uncharacteristically quiet, as well. 

Joff was either too wasted to notice, or he was too well-bred to acknowledge the tension all around him. He played an excellent host, charming, and carried the conversation at the table admirably. 

Sansa was relieved that his antics from earlier didn’t make an appearance at dinner. 

Maybe it was the drinking, she thought to herself. Some people just didn’t have any tact when they were drunk. Or high. 

Finally, dinner was over. Loras announced his intention to leave, citing work obligations early the next day. He made a point to ask the Tyrell ladies if they’d mind terribly to make an early night of it, to which they graciously agreed and did not mind at all. 

After the Tyrells said their goodbyes, Sansa tried to hide her uneasiness at being left alone with Joff and his parents. Robert was now roaring drunk and hitting on the hostess, who was obviously uncomfortable by his attentions. Cersei observed her husband’s behavior with an annoyed, resigned manner. Joff didn’t even seem to notice any of it. He just downed another drink and kept running his hand up Sansa’s thigh under the table. Sansa fought to stay in her seat and not squirm away from him. 

Cersei didn’t linger at the dinner table, thankfully. She simply finished her drink and rose, telling them both good night. She accepted her son’s kiss on the cheek and patted his hand. 

“Shouldn’t you be getting Sansa home? Her family might start to wonder if we spirited her away to Casterly Rock for good.” Cersei’s tone was light. 

Bless you, Cersei, Sansa thought.

“Of course,” Joffrey answered agreeably. “Shall we, Sansa?”

Sansa tried to not appear as eager as she felt. “I’m ready when you are.”

Joff led Sansa to the car, and she took deep breaths of the balmy night air, praying fervent prayers that the ride home would be uneventful. 

Meryn Trant was already behind the wheel, and started the engine as soon as he saw Joffery start toward him. 

Sandor Clegane followed a few paces behind them.They all got into the car in silence. 

Sansa tried not to breathe a sigh of relief as they drove out of the grounds. She couldn’t wait to get home. 

To her horror, Joff whipped out a small baggie of coke and dabbed a bit on his pinky, snorting it quickly. 

“You want?” He glanced up at Sansa, dangling the bag her way. 

“I’m good. Thank you, though,” Sansa nearly winced at the fake, perky tone of her voice.

Joffrey chuckled darkly. “Miss Perfect,” he said. “Seven help me, I don’t know how we could ever make this work. My mother adores you, though. She seems to think your goodness and innocence will cure me of my vices.”

Sansa swallowed. She supposed that was a compliment, in a way. 

Joffrey put the bag away, eyeing her thoughtfully. “I can’t say I’m opposed to the thought of taking you on. I mean, you are quite pretty. You’re at least educated, and you do come from the right family. You don’t have much experience with life, but I could do far worse.”

Sansa fought from wringing her hands in her lap. 

“Then there’s Margery,” Joffrey’s voice had taken on a blurry tone. “My mother isn’t as fond of her. I am, though. She’s beautiful, and she’s always up for anything. She amuses me,” 

Joffery smiled a private smile.

“But Margery wouldn’t be as...pliant as you, Sansa. It would be harder to keep her in line. It’s not just her. All the Tyrells are far too strong-willed for their own good.”

Sansa blanched on offense. But wasn’t that the act that she was putting on? Good Sansa, proper Sansa? Nice and biddable Sansa. 

Gods, she suddenly felt sick. 

Joff inched toward Sansa. “You’re not really all that boring though, are you Sansa Stark?”

Sansa bit her lip. “I don’t know,” she answered weakly. “I’ve never been told one way or the other.”

Joffrey laughed, a sinister sound. “Let’s find out,” he said.

Before Sansa could blink, he was on her. 

She tried not to tense up, but honestly, there was nothing about this groping that was romantic, or even appealing. 

Joffrey kissed her thoroughly, and Sansa didn’t know what to do. Her response was lukewarm at best, which didn’t seem to deter him in the least. One hand was on her lower back, pressing her toward him. Another hand had settled on her thigh, and with a sinking heart, she felt it work its way up. 

Sansa thought furiously. She didn’t want to wrench away and piss Joffrey off, but she also didn’t want to make out in front of Clegane and Trant. 

Stall him, Sansa thought, her thoughts tumbling together. 

She pulled away from Joffrey’s mouth, but didn’t remove his hand from her thigh. 

He merely grunted in return and tried to reclaim her lips.

“I was thinking,” Sansa blurted out quickly. “Would you like to come to dinner one evening?”

Joffrey barely restrained his sigh of irritation. “I don’t know Sansa, I am an extremely busy man. I’d have to consult my calendar.”

“Of course you would, I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. I can’t imagine the pressure you’re under with all your obligations.” Sansa made her eyes huge with sympathy.

Joff warmed to the topic, thank the gods. 

“You have no idea,” he said in a weary tone. “I barely have time for a social life. I mean, just taking you to Casterly Rock today was a real challenge. I had to do some juggling, some rearranging.”

Sansa wanted to roll her eyes. She sincerely doubted Joffrey had much of a hand in running the family business.

“Enough talking, for the gods sake,” he grumbled. He yanked her half on top of him, and finding her restrained by her seatbelt, climbed on her instead. Sansa felt trapped and began to panic. She tried to turn her head so she could catch her breath.

This is disgusting, Sansa thought. So this was making out? She’d barely let any boy touch her, so afraid of wasting her kisses and gaining a “bad” reputation.

So _this_ is what she’d been waiting for? What a disappointment.

Sansa tolerated as much as she could, trying to behave as a demure lady, stopping his hand from creeping too high by stilling it quite gently with her own. She was fighting a losing battle, however, and began a weak protest. 

“Joff, please,” she whispered as gently as possible. She tried to pull herself away from him carefully, but he held her with an iron grip.

“ _Sansa_ , please,” he mocked her. “You can’t get a man’s blood up and pull away. You don’t want to be a cocktease, do you?”

Sansa twisted away from him. “Joffrey, it’s too much. It’s too soon.”

Joffrey ignored her. His hold tightened as his hand reached higher, grazing the edge of her bikini bottom, working his fingers underneath.

Sansa tried to bite back a frightened whimper.

Suddenly, Trant slammed on the brakes.

Since Sansa was buckled in, she was momentarily thrown forward, then caught by her seatbelt. She fell back onto the seat with a jerk. 

Joffrey was not so lucky. He hadn’t buckled, so he was thrown into the back of the driver’s seat with quite a bit of force. His face bounced off the headrest and he let out a colorful string of expletives. 

“Trant, what the fucking hell?!” Joffrey roared, gripping the headrest as he straightened himself.

“Clegane pushed my leg down, like a crazy person! He made me slam on the brakes!”  Trant shouted, giving Sandor a murderous glare.

“You were taking a curve going 80 miles per hour, Trant. You could have fucking killed us.” Sandor answered in a perfectly even tone.

“ _What_ curve?!” Trant demanded. “We’re on a straight stretch of road!”

“You would have seen the curve if you had been watching the  _ road_,” Sandor replied, his tone implying much.

“I  _ was _ watching the road, you fuckin’ ugly-“

“Enough!” Joffrey shouted, holding his cheek, where a large bruise was beginning to bloom. “Trant, fucking drive. Carefully, if you don’t mind. I think even you can handle that much.”

Joff leaned away from Sansa. He picked up his phone and soon became engrossed in it, the screen illuminating his disgruntled face in the darkness. 

Sansa leaned against her own side of the car, against the window. Her eyes met Clegane’s in the passenger mirror. He looked away pointedly, but she could have sworn she saw a smile ghost his lips first. 

Sansa was elated to finally reach the grounds of Winterfell. The gate opened and the car swept up the drive, stopping in front of the front door.  


Sansa grabbed her bag and turned toward a nearly comatose Joffrey. She wasn’t sure if he could hear her or not, but she still told him, “Thank you for today, Joffrey. I hope to see you again soon.”

Joffrey made a noise that could have meant anything. Sansa simply decided that was good enough. She practically leapt from the car, eager to get inside and take a long bath.

“Miss Stark?”

Sansa started and whirled around.

Sandor stood about 5 feet away from her. He held something in his hand. 

“Joffrey meant for you to have this,” he explained, extending his hand, coming close enough to hand her a printed piece of card stock. 

Sansa blinked, accepting it. Despite his care to avoid contact, her cold fingers brushed against his. They were warm, large, and a bit calloused. 

Sansa felt an odd flutter in her stomach. 

_  
My_ _nerves_ , she told herself.

“Thank you,” she squeaked. 

Sandor nodded and strode quietly back towards the vehicle.

Sansa watched as the car swung itself around the half circle of the drive and left. Then she took a deep breath and steadied herself before going inside. 

As she predicted, her parents were sitting in the front parlor waiting, under the disguise of restful evening activities. Ned was reading a magazine, and Caitlin appeared to be deeply engrossed in needlepoint. Sansa was not fooled. She knew her mother expected a full report on the outing, down to the details of what Sansa had gotten right, and what she should have done “differently”. 

“How did it go?” Catelyn was overly casual in her tone, not glancing up from her needlepoint. 

Ned did look up. He frowned as his eyes met Sansa’s.

“Are you all right, Sansa?”

Catelyn looked up in alarm, her eyes growing as concerned as Ned’s.

Sansa could just imagine how awful she looked. She could feel her hair frizzing from the pool water earlier, no matter how carefully she’d tried to comb and braid it. Her lips and face burned from Joffrey’s stubble and her lips felt swollen from his aggressive kissing. She was sure her makeup was all but gone now, too. She must look a fright. 

“I fell in the pool earlier,” she told her parents with a rueful smile. “Then we played golf. I’m _exhausted_. I think I’ll take a bath and go to bed.”

Catelyn frowned. “Are you sure you’re all right?” 

“Just tired,” Sansa said too quickly.

Ned’s eyes were thoughtful, but he said nothing.

“What’s that?” Catelyn nodded toward the paper Sansa held in her hand.

Sansa had completely forgotten about it. She glanced down at the creamy ivory card and read the gold script. 

“We’re invited to a charity gala next weekend,” Sansa answered. Instead of being elated, she felt dread coil in her belly. 

Catelyn set aside her needlepoint and stood eagerly, reaching for the invitation.

“Did Joffrey invite you personally?” She asked, skimming the invitation. “Ned, apparently we’re all invited. It says to admit the family of Eddard Stark.”

Sansa understood the significance of that. Even without sensing her mother’s palpable excitement. 

“That should be fun”, Sansa replied in what she hoped was a convincing manner. “Well, I believe I’ll have my bath and be off to bed.”

Catelyn nodded, carrying the invite to Ned. “Good night, sweetheart.”

Sansa trudged up their stairs and into her bedroom. She set her bag down with a sigh and gathered her things, heading into the bathroom she shared with Arya. 

After running the water as hot as she could stand it, Sansa added a few drops of lavender oil and lowered herself in the steaming water. She soaked, her thoughts sullen. She scrubbed her entire body until her skin was pink, standing to wash her hair in the shower. She had just washed it that morning and was annoyed to have do so again.

After she’d slathered herself in various creams and oils, Sansa brushed her teeth and headed to bed, praying that sleep would not elude her. 

Arya was in her room, perched on the edge of Sansa’s bed. She was dressed in her workout clothes, now rumpled, and smelled like sweat.

“Did you leave me any hot water?” Arya demanded.

Sansa sighed, unable to muster the energy for an ensuing argument. “You might want to wait a few minutes.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “Of course you had to make sure you went first,  and used all the hot water.”

Sansa ignored Arya, sitting down at her small vanity to brush out her hair.

Arya shrugged. “Fair enough. If I’d spent the afternoon being pawed at by Joffrey, I’d need a bath too.”

“Good night, Arya,” Sansa said pointedly, tossing down the brush and crawling into her bed. She jerked the covers out from under Arya and pulled them to her chin.

Arya stared at Sansa. 

“Arya,  what ?” Sansa snapped. She was _so_ not in the mood for any Arya games. 

“Nothing,” Arya answered. “Just...how did it go today?”

“Fine,” Sansa answered tightly, rolling away from Arya. “It was a long day. I’m exhausted.”

“Uh-huh,” Arya replied sarcastically. “Good night.”

Sansa sighed with relief as she heard Arya shut the bathroom door. 

Sansa sat up in bed, listening as Arya turned on the shower. She reached over and took her phone from her nightstand. 

She scrolled social media, checking for pictures from today. She only saw a few. Margery and Loras posed outside of Casterly Rock in a selfie. They were really _too_ good looking. It wasn’t fair. 

She saw a few more from acquaintances, from the pool and tennis courts and golf course. She finally caught one of herself and Joffrey in the background of Jeyne Poole’s family photo at dinner. Sansa was sitting up straight, her posture stiff, her smile tense. Joffrey looked at something in the distance, and she couldn’t tell if she saw boredom or disgust on his face. It was not a happy look, to be sure. 

Sansa groaned, sinking down in the bed. She hoped Catelyn didn’t see any of these. The last thing she needed was a lecture after this evening. 

Sansa sighed and stared at the wall. She willed her mind to slow down, but it raced with anxiety and some other emotion she was too afraid to name. 

Suddenly, Clegane popped into her head. How he’d forced Trant to slam on the brakes when Joffrey had gone too far. How he looked when Joffrey had shoved her in the pool. She slowly began to realize that Sandor hadn’t been angry with  _her_ . He’d been worried, maybe? Angry with Joff?

Sansa wasn’t sure what to make of that. Clegane didn’t even know her. Maybe he was just a decent man. Or maybe he secretly despised Joffrey? It was also possible that he was toying with her. She didn’t even know the man all that well.

Well, whatever his reasons, he had helped her, and she had needed help tonight. 

Despite her reservations, Sansa fell asleep to the comforting memory of Clegane’s warm fingers brushing hers. 


	4. Chapter 4

Two days later, Arya Stark was in the middle of sparring with her friend Hot Pie, junior heavyweight champion of Westeros, when Sandor Clegane walked into Syrio’s gym. 

Arya spotted him and lost her focus. 

Hot Pie landed a jab directly on her exposed jaw. 

Scowling at her mistake, Arya ducked the next jab and landed one in Hot Pie’s gut. 

Hot Pie jerked his head gear off, backing away from her. “I told you not to spar with me!” He shouted. “You had no business getting in the ring with me! I  told you-“

“Shut up, Hot Pie!” Arya hissed. “I could take your ass down in seconds.”  


She rubbed her jaw, ignoring the heckling and jeering from the spectators on the sidelines. 

  
There wasn’t a soul in there that wouldn’t be at least a little satisfied to see Arya taken down a peg or two, considering that she had won a match against nearly every boy in there. Some twice. 

It was a damn shame, in Arya’s opinion, that Syrio didn’t think she was ready to fight for real. He said she had to work on her  patience , on her  temper . 

Whatever. 

“I hope you all enjoyed that,” Arya called to the crowd as she grabbed her towel and took off in the direction of Sandor Clegane. 

“...because it will  not be happening again,” she muttered to herself, mopping her face off. 

Sandor had gone into the locker room. Arya waited outside the door on him for what seemed like ages. She paced the floor, bounced up and down on her toes, stretched her muscles. 

She was on the verge of going in after Clegane herself when he finally emerged from the locker room, dressed in what must have been his workout clothes. 

“Finally”, Arya told him, eyeing his ancient-looking Stone Temple Pilots t-shirt. “I thought you’d never come back out. I was about to come in there and drag you out myself.”

Sandor glowered at her in a frightening manner.

Unfortunately for him, Arya wasn’t the least bit intimidated.

“I’m Arya Stark,” she informed him.

“I know who you are. Can’t step a foot in here without hearing your name,” Sandor turned and began walking in long strides towards the weights. 

“Sansa Stark is my sister,” Arya continued, darting after him as he reached his destination and began racking his weights.

Sandor ignored her, settling his bulky form down upon the bench.

Arya didn’t budge. “You’re Joffrey Baratheon’s body guard.”

Sandor looked up at Arya with very little pleasure. “And you’re a huge pest, to be so small.”

Arya scowled at him. “And _you_ are as grouchy as you look. Don’t worry, I won’t waste much more of your precious time. I just want to know if Joffrey is behaving himself with my sister.”

Sandor apparently had decided to ignore her once again. He was beginning to lift an impressive amount, puffing out breaths as he counted. 

Arya tried to hold onto her temper. She really did. 

Then she grabbed Sandor’s weight bar with both hands, and pushed down with all her might.

Sandor shoved against her, his face flushing. “What the fuck are you doing? Get off me!”

“You shouldn’t start with such heavy weights, Clegane, if you can’t handle them,” Arya snapped, gripping with all her might as he tried to shake her off.  


They were beginning to draw attention, as people came closer to see what the commotion was on the weight bench.   
  


“Is Joffrey being a gentleman? Answer me and I’ll let you go!”

”Im not telling you _shit,”_ Clegane wheezed.

  
It took a few burly guys to pull Arya off Sandor.

“Arya! If you can’t act like a decent human being, you have to leave! You know the rules!” Syrio Forel’s shout rang out across the gym. 

Arya glared at Sandor, and stood her ground. “I asked you a question about my sister, Clegane.”

Sandor was royally pissed off, she could tell. But he was the one who held onto his temper. 

“I’m in charge of keeping Joffrey safe,” he spoke slowly, his jaw clenched. “That includes keeping him from making irrevocably stupid decisions.  Your sister is a grown woman, one that seems to have more sense than you. That’s all I’m telling you, and more than you need to know. _Now. Fuck. Off_.”

“ _Thank_ _you_! Was that so hard?” Arya asked.

Then she waltzed away before Clegane finally blew a gasket. 

*******************

Sansa was pushing pot roast around her plate at dinner. Nobody seemed to notice.  


Everyone was laughing and talking over one another. Arya normally wouldn’t have noticed anything amiss herself. She probably would have just assumed that Sansa was eating almost nothing to keep herself thin.  


Arya was doing the same, though she couldn’t care less about watching her figure.  


She had been bothered ever since she’d heard Gendry’s news.

  
  


Podrick, who trained with the same crew that trained Joffrey’s guards, had heard Meryn Trant bragging about Joffrey nearly deflowering the Stark princess in the back of a Rover. Had laughed about it, and had actually watched. Until Sandor Clegane had intervened.

“Claimed I was taking a curve too fast. There are no curves on that road. More like he doesn’t get any action, so nobody else can either.”

“I wouldn’t let him hear you say that,”Barristan Selmy warned Trant. 

Trant scoffed, but did shut up. Even he wasn’t going to cross that line.

Arya had been furious. 

“I  knew something was up that night she came home. I’m sure Podrick didn’t call bullshit on Trant, either.” Arya paced the floor of the Stark den. 

  
Her mother permitted her to hang out with Gendry there. Mainly because it was easy to spy in that particular room, and also because Gendry was too afraid of blowing it and not being allowed back in the Stark home. He refused to cross any boundaries. 

Gendry sighed. “Of course he didn’t, Arya. They would have ran his ass out of there. And how are you going to get this kind of information any other way?”

“True,” Arya admitted. “I guess I’m going to have to take care of this myself.”

  
She drummed her fingers on the edge of the sofa.

“These assholes need to be taught a lesson. They can’t just go around treating people like they’re disposable.”

  
Gendry lowered his head into his hands with a groan. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you anything,” he said, in a muffled voice. 

Arya flopped into his lap. “But you did. Because you love me.”

Gendry looked up at her and smirked. “Maybe.”

“Also, because that’s a disgusting thing to talk about. For him to just watch it happen and not say anything...he was just going to let Joffrey The Pig behave like a fucking pig. What a piece of shit.”

“Yeah, and just imagine if Clegane hadn’t been there to stop it.”

“I am, Gendry. Thank you.”

“Sorry. It’s just....what would Sansa have done?”

Arya felt a sick pit in the hollow of her stomach.  


“I’ve got to talk to Clegane,” she decided.

It wasn’t difficult to figure out Clegane’s schedule, since she knew he worked out at Syrio’s. She simply had to catch him at the right time.

A lot of help he’d been, but she’d not really expected too much from Clegane. 

Arya decided it was time to cut the bullshit and just talk to Sansa. Maybe she would actually listen, since Sansa had floated around like a ghost all week, with very little to say.

  
Arya knew she couldn’t talk Catelyn and Sansa out of the catch-and-snare-Joffrey plan. They were too far invested, even if Sansa was miserable. And knowing Sansa, she was probably blaming herself for Joffrey’s shitty behavior. 

The least Arya could do was to make sure that Sansa knew about Trant spreading the backseat rumor. That would be a start. 

Arya watched Sansa from under her lashes. Sansa continued to mechanically cut and take tiny bites of her food. Finally she set her cutlery down. 

“May I be excused?”

Catelyn nodded. 

Sansa stood and fled towards the direction of her bedroom. 

Arya wolfed down a few more bites and tossed her napkin down.

“May I be excused, too?” 

Every eye turned toward her.

“You’re only eating one plate?” Catelyn asked. 

“You usually have seconds. Sometimes thirds.” Bran interjected. 

Arya huffed. “Nobody questioned Sansa!”

“Sansa always eats like a bird,” Rickon informed her. Then his face brightened. “Does that mean I don’t have to eat my peas?”

“It means that you have to eat some of them, just like your sisters did,” Catelyn answered, turning her attention to Rickon and his vegetables. “And yes, Arya, you may be excused.”

Arya met Sansa on the stairs. She was carrying her purse.

”You’re going out?” Arya cried. “I need to talk to you.”

Sansa frowned slightly. “Is everything okay?”

”With me? Yeah. I needed to talk to you about something I heard.”

Sansa wrinkled her nose. “Like a rumor?” Then she paled. “About me?”

Arya rolled her eyes. “For once, your self-interest pays off. Yes, about you.”

Arya drug Sansa by the arm back up the stairs.   
  


“Give me two minutes.”

Arya relayed the message she’d heard from Gendry, and gave Sansa an abbreviated account of her encounter with Clegane at the gym.

Sansa sat down hard on the bed. “So that’s it. Trant told everyone about that night.”

”So it’s true?” Arya demanded. “Joffrey forced himself on you?”

”That’s the thing,” Sansa said slowly. “It didn’t get that far. Clegane did make Trant to slam on the brakes. Joffrey lost interest after that.”

”Sansa,” Arya knew it was a waste of breath, but she had to try. “I don’t think Joffrey is safe for you to be around. I mean, if he’s obviously disrespectful to you now...”

Sansa smiled tightly at Arya. “I just wasn’t being careful. He’d drank too much, and-“

”It’s pretty well known that Joffrey turns into an asshole when he drinks, Sansa. I know about the cocaine, and the pills. He has a serious problem, on top of whatever else makes him the way he is. He’s dangerous, Sansa. He’s got major issues. You being Miss Perfect Pretty Princess isn’t going to change him.”

  
Arya knew she had gone too far once the words were out of her mouth. She saw Sansa get that stubborn set in her features, just like their mother when she became determined to see something through.

”I’m glad you told me, Arya. But really, you don’t need to be worried.” Sansa gave Arya’s arm a pat. “I’ve got to hurry and meet Margery. We’re going to shop for the gala.”

Arya raised her eyebrow. “You know she’s like your main rival for The Pig’s attention, right? Maybe you should just let her have him.”

Sansa sighed and rolled her eyes. “You’ve made your point, Arya. Now I have to go, really. I’m already late.”

Arya threw up her hands in exasperation and moved to the side.

”Have at it.”

Later, Arya recounted the conversation to Gendry in the Stark’s den.   
  


“She’s being willfully obtuse, as my mother would say. Or fucking stupid, that’s what she means when she says that. She’s no match for evil Joffrey. He’ll chew her up and spit her out. But she won’t listen. It’s ridiculous.”

  
Gendry listened, his hands folded behind his head. 

“You can’t make people listen. You can give them good advice all day long, and try to reason with them. But in the end, they have to make the right decisions for themselves.”

Arya smirked. “Very wise, Gendry.”

Gendry nodded seriously. “I’ve learned a lot, having you as a girlfriend. Like extreme patience, and how to deal with stubborn people.”

Arya tossed a pillow at him.   
  


“She doesn’t seem worried.” Gendry caught the pillow easily and sat it down beside him.   
  


“She’s my sister. I can’t just let her march into the lion’s den all alone. You don’t understand. You don’t have any brothers or sisters. Do you?”

”Low blow, Arya,” Gendry scowled. “And no, I don’t. Well, none that I know of.”

Arya crossed the distance between the two of them and wrapped her arms around Gendry.   
  


“I’m sorry. You’re amazing, and you give good advice. Maybe I should have let you talk to Sansa.”   
  


Gendry looked slightly mollified. “I can’t talk to her like you can. You’re a girl.”

”What does that have to do with anything?” Arya demanded.

”Girls talk about stuff like that,” Gendry shrugged.   
  


“Not all girls are like that,” Arya protested. “That’s like saying all guys are like Meryn Trant.”

  
”Fair enough,” Gendry replied. “So what are you going to do now?”

”I don’t know,” Arya groaned. “I can’t tell mom. That’s the only one she listens to.”

”Maybe not...” Gendry looked thoughtful. “She’s been hanging out with Margery Tyrell, hasn’t she?”

”I guess...she said she was going shopping with her tonight...wait. How did you know that?”

“I saw them leaving together when I came in.”

Arya thought for a moment.   
  


“It won’t work. She thinks of Margery as her rival for Joffrey.” Arya made a face. “Gross. But I know that she does. That’s part of the reason she’s been spending time with her. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Gendry said easily. “You won’t know until you try. Maybe this time you can find a better approach, and not attack her like you did Sandor.”

”I didn’t attack him,” Arya grumbled.

Gendry snorted. “Okay, sure.”

”Fine, you’re right. I need a better approach. And you’re going to help me.”

“Me?!” Gendry exclaimed. “What can I possibly do?”

”Oh, don’t worry, I’ll come up something. Now, be quiet, please. I need to think.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized that in previous chapters, Meryn Trant’s name was autocorrected each time to “Meryl” 😄
> 
> I despise his character, but for posterity’s sake I will fix my mistake.
> 
> I hope you all forgive me for the error.

  
Sandor was bored out of his mind. 

Being bodyguard to Joffrey, the most obnoxious cunt this side of Westeros, was a tedious job at best. 

Today, for example, he was stationed outside of his bedroom. Joffrey was getting his jollies with a couple of girls from Petyr Baelish’s escort service.  


Sandor hated when Joffrey indulged these perversions worst of all. The girls, when they left, if they left, were often so traumatized that Sandor wondered if they ever worked again. 

A high pitched shriek came from the bedroom, followed by an abrupt, suspicious silence. 

After a several minutes, the door opened, and a trembling girl padded out.  


She didn’t make eye contact with Sandor, just carried her shoes and was obviously trying to get to the front door as inconspicuously as possible.

Joffrey sauntered out into the hall, his skinny bare chest covered in bloody scratches. 

“Jayna? Or was it Dayna? Whatever your name is...didn’t you want your payment? I guess you get the other’s payment as well, since she’s in no position to worry about money.”

The girl paused and turned slowly. Her face was bruised and she approached Joffrey slowly, as he dangled a wad of cash before him.

“Don’t forget the NDA you signed.” 

Joffrey smiled as he tossed the cash at the girl, forcing her to stoop and pick it up off the floor. “I hope you understand that things will get ugly if you don’t uphold _your_ end of this particular bargain.”

The girl simply nodded, stuffing the money in her bag. She turned and fled towards the front door, where a smirking Trant opened it for her.

Joffrey grimaced at his chest. “I need to take care of this. You two,” Joffrey said to Clegane and Trant. “Take care of that.” He nodded towards his bedroom. 

While Joffrey showered, Trant made some calls. Sandor was tasked with assessing the scene in the bedroom, a task that always turned his stomach. 

The girl left in there had been shot through the chest with a crossbow, her body pinned to a post upon Joffrey’s bed. The position was obviously so Joffrey could watch her die while the other girl performed. 

Sandor had to take several moments to catch his breath. 

This little prick was getting out of hand. It was one thing when he slapped the girls around a bit; Sandor didn’t condone that, but at least the girls suffered no lasting effects, just a client who got off on roughhousing. 

  
This shit right here was beyond the scope of sanity. Or humanity. 

Sandor left the room and made his own call.

Fifteen minutes later, Baelish and Tyrion Lannister marched importantly through the door. 

Joffrey had showered and was eating a microwaved burrito. He ignored the men, and shut himself up in his media room with all his fancy electronic equipment. Moments later the booming bass of his sound system rang throughout the keep. 

Sandor fought the urge to beat the wormy little fucker within an inch of his miserable life, and escorted the men into the bedroom. 

Tyrion inhaled sharply, and seemed to regret that action immediately. He took a perfectly folded and pressed linen square from his pocket and held it to his nose. 

“Good gods,” he said softly, as he surveyed the scene before him.

Baelish, that slimy fucker, simply pressed his lips together in annoyance. 

“Ros was one of my best girls,” he told them, folding his arms. “This is a real inconvenience. But you did the right thing by calling me, Clegane. Tell Trant to call off his clean-up crew. I’ll handle it from here.”

Tyrion looked at Sandor and nodded towards the door. 

Sandor followed Tyrion out, while Baelish began to take Ros down from the post. 

The two men sat side by side on a bench in the hall.

“How long has this been going on?” Tyrion asked.

“What do you mean? This is the first time he’s....that a girl didn’t leave the room.”

“Okay,” Tyrion replied. “But you wouldn’t have called me, and especially Baelish, if you weren’t freaked out.”

Sandor barked out a laugh. Nothing was funny, it just struck him as surreal that they were discussing Joffrey’s sick deed as if it were a business transaction gone wrong. 

“He’s out of control. Nobody will say it, but I will. Something must be done.” Tyrion shook his head in disgust. “Murder, for the love of the gods. May that girl rest her soul in peace.”

Sandor leaned his arms on his knees. He just felt tired. 

Trant strolled into view. He stopped in his tracks at the sight of Sandor and Tyrion sitting together. 

“What the fuck is _he_ doing here?” Trant asked Sandor, staring at Tyrion.

“Hello, Trant. You can cancel your motley cleaning crew. Baelish is handling it. Professionally.” Tyrion smiled pleasantly.

  
Trant’s mouth dropped for just a moment.

“You called Baelish?” He laughed. “Very dumb move, Clegane. Gods, Cersei is going to lose her mind.”

“Baelish was called, Baelish was the one who was required, and Baelish will be the one who deals with these types of situations from here on out. If you have an issue with that, you can take it up with Tywin Lannister. Now, go downstairs and be ready to let his men in. We’ve got a lot to accomplish in a short amount of time.” Tyrion dismissed Trant with a gesture.

Trant glowered a moment then turned sharply and left to do as Tyrion bid.

Tyrion shook his head. “I don’t know how you stand him. If the rumors are true, he’s actually as bad as Joffrey. Truth be told, he’s worse.”

Sandor said nothing.

Tyrion nodded sagely. “I understand. You have to work here. Fair enough.”

Tyrion hopped off the bench and clapped his hands together. 

“Well, let’s get Joffrey and go. He has a meeting with the board in an hour. Perhaps his grandfather can convince him to curb his....enthusiastic pursuit of his vices.”

Half an hour later, Sandor was driving a furious Joffrey, along with Tyrion, to Baratheon Holdings. 

“I can’t believe you called Baelish, Clegane. Wait until Grandfather hears about this. You’ll be lucky if you can get a job shoveling shit when he’s through with you,” 

“Joffrey, it was actually a decision that saved your ass. Can you imagine what a mess Trant’s men would have made of the situation? At least Baelish is quick and clean. Sure, you’ll pay for his help for the rest of your life, but honestly, what did you expect?” Tyrion asked reasonably.

“Exactly! We’ll be in Baelish’s back pocket forever. It’s not worth it!”

“With all due respect,” Tyrion spoke through gritted teeth, “I disagree. Because if you ended up being charged with _murder_ , your legal team would bleed your money dry. This is a more...economically sound approach.”

“Murder,” Joffrey scoffed. “I still say Clegane is going to be out of a job by this evening. Do you hear me, idiot dog?!” Joffrey leaned forward and shouted in Sandor’s ear. “You’ll ruin me!”

“Enough, Joffrey! I think we’ve all had enough for one day.”

“Fuck you, Tyrion,” Joffrey snarled. He sat back in his seat roughly. 

As it turned out, Sandor wasn’t even reprimanded. He stood a few feet behind Joffrey in the posh meeting room of Baratheon Holdings as Joff met with Tywin and Cersei. 

“You obviously should have called me first, Mr. Clegane,” Cersei’s eyes were bright with anger. “It was a serious lack of judgement on your part.”

“Clegane is unlikely to call a mother to inform her of her darling son’s dirty deeds, Cersei. I think Baelish was the right person to call. Are you so blind that you can’t understand the possible implications of the boy’s actions? Had we left it to chance, things might be a lot different for us right now. This is unsavory business, and unsavory business requires unsavory business partners.”

“But-“ Joffrey tried to interrupt.

“Joffrey,” Tywin turned his cold eyes upon his eldest grandchild with distaste. “If you’re going to insist on playing with your food, perhaps buy less expensive meals.”

Tywin’s gaze turned to his daughter. “Robert will not hear of this. From anyone.” His blue eyes swept the room, daring anyone to disagree.

They did not.

“As far as I’m concerned, this is past business. I’ll take care of Baelish. We’ll come to some sort of understanding. Perhaps we’ll need him again in the future, especially if Joffrey can’t control his...urges.”

Tywin dismissed everyone with a wave.

Cersei rose and left quickly, her mouth in a tight line.

Sandor was almost disappointed to still be employed.  


He followed a raging Joffrey out of the room and to the elevator.

“He treats me like a child,” Joffrey fumed, punching the elevator buttons the moment the doors slid closed. They lit up gleefully, ensuring a long ride down. Sandor wanted to groan aloud.

“So prove you’re not a child.” Sandor spoke out loud, to his own surprise.

“What?” Joffery turned to stare at Sandor. 

It was rare that his bodyguard ever returned his conversation. Trant was the talker. Sandor wasn’t paid to socialize and rarely spoke to Joffrey, just followed him around like a loyal dog.

“Show him that you’re not a child. You’re the heir to the family business. He just runs it for you. He does well enough, but he’ll soon be dead. Then it will all fall to you. Show him you can handle that kind of responsibility.”

Joffrey stared at Sandor in shock. Then he laughed. 

“I was born for this, dog. I know how to run a company. But you’re right about one thing. Grandfather will be dead soon enough, and then I can finally live my life without his tiresome meddling.”

Sandor fought the urge to slap Joffrey in the back of the head. The boy really was a hopeless cunt.

“Tomorrow is the gala and I need you to pick up Sansa Stark for me. I’ve agreed to officially go with Margery, but Sansa needs to be seen arriving with someone from my family. I’m thinking....” Joffrey frowned in concentration. Suddenly his face brightened. “Tyrion! She can be Tyrion’s date!” Joffrey cackled. “That ought to make them _both_ happy.”

“I’m supposed to escort you tomorrow night, Mr. Baratheon.” Sandor replied carefully.

“Oh, I know, but Trant can manage. At least until you can get to Casterly Rock.” Joffrey was undeterred. “I’ll arrange it all with mother.”

The elevator doors finally opened and Joffrey strolled out, already on the phone with Cersei.

“Well, it’s settled. Trant is with me, and you are with Tyrion tomorrow. I need to pay some attention to Margery, so try to keep Sansa off our backs, would you? She can be very tiresome.

“All right,” Sandor answered easily.

Sandor, however, didn’t promise to keep Catelyn Stark off Joffrey’s back. Sansa’s tenacious mama wouldn’t let her daughter be swept aside so easily. 

Sandor secretly hoped the evening backfired spectacularly in Joffrey’s prick face. 


	6. Chapter 6

Sansa twirled anxiously around her bedroom, wondering what could be keeping Joffrey. 

Her family had gone on to the gala, at her insistence.

A few days prior, Joffrey had sent her a cryptic text, telling her to be ready by 7pm because he was sending a car for her.  
  


Catelyn had come upstairs just before the family left, looking lovely in a blue-gray evening gown. 

“Have you heard from Joffrey, love?” 

Sansa could tell Catelyn hadn’t wanted to ask, but was loathe to leave Sansa behind. Her late arrival, or worse, absence, would certainly be noted. 

Sansa forced a smile. “Not yet, but don’t worry. If it comes down to it, I can always drive myself.”

Catelyn had frowned slightly. “All right, darling. Call me if you need me.”

Sansa had dressed in a cerulean blue gown with a plunging neckline. The straps were made of crystals that looked as though pristine ice droplets were holding up the silky fabric.

Her hair had been freshly trimmed and blown out, and she had put on more makeup than she normally liked to wear. Tonight would be full of photographers and the most important people in the Westerosi society circles. She had to look her very best.

Sansa stared at her reflection critically in her mirror. She had grown thinner and paler with anxiety, but her gown and shining hair helped mask that. Also, makeup. 

She blinked and her lids shimmered gold, with precise winged-black liner and black lashes. Blush and lips in a rosy color complemented the look without being overpowering. 

Sansa grabbed her small evening bag and went downstairs. She couldn’t stand being alone in her room for one more second. 

As she crossed the lower landing, she wondered if she should just go ahead and call Joffrey. 

_No_ , she told herself. _Just be patient._

Sansa went into the Stark’s lounge and stared at the bar. Finally she made herself a small vodka-cranberry, just to take the edge off.

She had just finished her drink and was putting the glass in the kitchen, when the chime sounded. Someone was coming up the drive. 

Sansa willed herself to be calm. The drink had helped somewhat, but her hands were still clammy, her heart was still beating too fast. 

She took a deep breath. Then another.

The doorbell rang. The housekeeper answered. Much like last week, she heard the soft baritone of Sandor Clegane’s voice. 

Sansa strolled into the landing, her silver heels clicking as she walked. 

Sandor and the housekeeper turned to look at her. 

“You look beautiful, Sansa,” the woman smiled fondly at her.

“Thank you”, Sansa answered, giving the woman a genuine smile.

Sansa turned to Clegane, who was staring at her in an awed sort of way.

Then he seemed to mentally shake himself. He blinked and was all business. 

“I’m supposed to drive you to the gala, Miss Stark,” he told her. “I was instructed by Joffrey to make sure you got there, and he would be with you as soon as he was able.”

“Oh,” Sansa blinked. “He didn’t mention that to me earlier.”

“Would you like me to wait while you call him?” Sandor asked. She could sense his impatience. 

Sansa sighed inwardly. She was already in danger of being inexcusably late, and she found that she wasn’t as wary of Clegane as she ought to have been.

“No, I’m sure it will be fine,” Sansa told the housekeeper good night and started out the door, eager to be on her way.

Sansa walked out the door, trailed by Clegane, toward a black Mercedes.  Sandor jumped ahead to open the back door for her. 

Sansa peered in, and noted that Trant was not in the vehicle, much to her relief. 

“Trant’s with Joffrey this evening,” Sandor informed her, seemingly reading her mind. 

“I see,” Sansa responded, sliding into the backseat. 

Clegane waited until she was settled before carefully shutting the door. 

As they drove, Sansa stared out the window. It was dusk, and everything seemed to be bathed in the glowing fade of sunlight. 

Clegane was quiet, dressed in an all-black tuxedo. Sansa wondered where he got a tuxedo in his intimidating size. Probably custom-ordered. Part of the perks that likely came with working for the Lannisters.

Sansa couldn’t stand the silence. “You look very nice, Mr. Clegane,” she told him suddenly. She blushed, hoping he didn’t think her too forward. 

Where had _that_ come from? 

Clegane’s eyes jerked to meet hers in the rear view mirror for about two seconds. Then he looked away. 

Sansa wondered if it was considered a breach of contract for him to return the compliment. 

She stared out the window, her mind going in a million different directions as they passed the familiar landmarks leading to Casterly Rock.   
  


They stopped at a traffic light, and Clegane’s voice broke through the silence.

“I’m not supposed to mention this, Miss Stark, but I’m going to. You don’t deserve to be caught unaware. Not tonight, of all nights.”

Sansa met Sandor’s eyes. He stared at her seriously, as if he were making sure she was listening. 

She was.

“Joff is escorting Margery tonight. He wanted me to bring you and his uncle Tyrion together. However, Tyrion...well, something came up. That’s why I was so late in getting to you.”

Sansa didn’t know what to say. For a moment she and Clegane sat awkwardly in silence. Then, much to her chagrin, she felt foolish tears spring to her eyes. 

All week long Margery had shopped with her, they’d gone to lunch with Olenna, and never had she mentioned this.

Sansa was more upset by Margery’s betrayal than Joffrey’s, she realized. 

She would have looked like such a fool on an important evening, had it not been for Sandor. 

“Thank you for telling me,” Sansa answered softly, checking her makeup in her small compact. “I won’t forget your kindness.”

Sandor scowled. “No kindness, Miss Stark. Just trying to do the right thing.”

Sansa smiled despite herself. “Call it what you like, but thank you all the same. And don’t worry, I’ll never let it slip that you informed me.”

“I didn’t think you would,” Sandor’s tone was less gruff. 

  
  


As the car swept through the grounds of Casterly Rock, Sansa felt her nerves tremble anew. 

She had to fight the insane urge to ask Clegane if he would escort her in. She didn’t want to go alone. 

Sandor pulled up to the front of the building and hopped out of the car, coming to her door. 

Sansa took a deep breath and composed herself. 

Sandor opened the door and photographers surround her. The flash of bulbs greeted her, followed by the calls of the society photographers. 

“Sansa! Sansa Stark! Look this way please!”

Sansa had practiced this very moment for ages . It was a lot different than the rare family group photos that had been snapped of the Starks over the years. Tonight it was just her, alone.

Sansa smiled and turned her head to every side, giving them all a chance to get their shot. Then she carefully walked into the main hall, as attendants opened the doors for her. 

Once inside, it was dim. She blinked and allowed her eyes to adjust in the lighting, then looked around. 

She saw many familiar faces, and quite a few people stopped her to say hello. She smiled and practiced her social graces perfectly.

Finally she made it into the dining areas of the club. She spotted her mother and father, standing together, talking to Jeyne Poole’s father. 

Sansa made her way over to them with relief. 

“Sansa!” Petyr Baelish intercepted her before she’d even gone ten feet. 

Sansa had to fix the smile firmly upon her face to mask her annoyance. 

“Hello, Mr. Baelish. It’s so nice to see you.”

Petyr scoffed. “Call me, Petyr, please. It’s _wonderful_ to see you. You look gorgeous, Sansa.”

Sansa tried not to grimace as Baelish wrapped her into a hug. She managed to give him a quick pat and disentangled herself as quickly as possible.

“I’m sure my mother would love to see you. Have you had a chance to speak with her yet?” Sansa batted her eyes innocently at him. 

“Yes, as a matter of fact, we spoke just a moment ago,” Baelish forced a smile. “It’s always lovely to see Cat.”

Sansa tried not to smirk. Her father would have shut that particular conversation down as quickly as possible. He couldn’t stand Baelish, nor Baelish’s fascination with Catelyn. 

“I’m on my way to speak with them as well,” Sansa replied, inching away. “I’m sure I’ll see you later, Mr. Baelish.”

Sansa tried not to give the appearance of fleeing as she turned and walked away from the creepy man. 

Catelyn smiled as Sansa came towards her parents. “Darling, hi. I didn’t know you’d arrived.”

“I just now slipped in,” Sansa smiled at Mr. Poole, who greeted her politely. 

Just then, a loud commotion came from the front entrance. 

Joffrey walked into the room, looking wasted already. He was dressed impeccably in a white and black tux, not a hair out of place, but his eyes were glassy and cheeks flushed. 

He was gripping the arm of Margery Tyrell, who was dressed in a slinky red gown. She looked beautiful but Sansa could tell by the set of her features that Margery was barely holding on to her composure. Sansa knee just how that felt, and found she didn’t envy the girl one bit at that particular moment.  


“What is this?” Catelyn asked Sansa softly. 

Sansa sighed. “He’s bringing Margery tonight. I came alone with one of his guards.”

“You _what_?” Catelyn’s eyes widened for just a second. Then she looked around to make sure nobody was eavesdropping on their conversation. 

“People _are_ staring,” Sansa forced a smile onto her face as she surveyed the room and looked back at her mother. “Joffery sent a car for me, and I got here. Margery is his date tonight, and I just realized it on the ride over.”

Catelyn relaxed her features, smiling over at Ned, who was watching them with a confused look on his face. Then she turned to Sansa and smiled hard. 

“Why would Joffrey bring Margery? Is there something you’re not telling me, Sansa?”

“You know as much as I know,” Sansa responded, smiling pleasantly as Joffrey and Margery headed straight for her. 

“Hello, Sansa,” Joffrey greeted her with a smirk, apparently trying to dig the knife in and twist. “I’m so glad you and your family were able to come. Don’t you and Mrs. Stark look lovely?”

Sansa mentally blessed Clegane again for preparing her for this moment. 

“Hi, Joffery,” Sansa answered. She turned to Margery pointedly. “Hi, Margery. You look fantastic in that dress. I knew you would.”

Margery gave Sansa a brittle smile. “You’re too sweet, Sansa.”

“Margery _was_ just telling me that you two went shopping together for dresses this week. I have to commend you both for your excellent taste! A man is lucky to count two women such as yourselves among his friends, especially since I can barely match my own socks,” Joffrey’s courtesies were impeccable, even when he was drunk, high, and behaving like a horse’s ass.

Sansa gave a light chuckle. “You make me laugh, Joffrey. Thank you _so_ much for inviting us this evening.”

_And thank the gods I wasn’t your date_ , Sansa thought. She would have felt sorry for Margery, had she not been so annoyed.

“We’ll be seeing you around,” Joffrey tugged Margery along. “Oh, and Sansa. I know you probably have countless offers, but would you save me a dance later?”

“Of course,” Sansa replied graciously. 

As soon as Joffrey and Margery left their sight, Catelyn faced the crowd. 

“I’m not sure what Joffrey is playing at, but something has happened between last Saturday and today, Sansa.”

“If something happened, I’m unaware of it,” Sansa said. “I think I’ll get some champagne. Would you like some?”

Catelyn shook her head, and Sansa made her way to the bar.

Arya’s boyfriend Gendry was working as bartender tonight. The man held down as many odd jobs as possible, trying to put himself through a welding certification course. 

“Hey, Sansa,” Gendry spoke lightly, but his eyes were full of sympathy. “What would you like? Champagne? Maybe something a little stronger?”

Sansa envied Arya at that moment. Why couldn’t Sansa be free to have someone as kind and uncomplicated as Gendry in her own life?

“I was coming for champagne but something stronger actually sounds wonderful. What do you recommend?”

“I’ll make you something,” Gendry replied, reaching under the bar for various bottles.

“Make sure it’s diet and low-cal,” Arya’s voice came from behind Sansa. “Otherwise Sansa will bitch about getting fat for a week.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Gala is just gearing up! Stay tuned...


	7. Chapter 7

“Let’s get this party started,” Arya muttered as the fifth slow song played in a row. 

Sansa stifled a laugh and took another slug of her drink. 

Arya glanced at her in amusement. 

“Sansa Goody-Two-Shoes Stark. Are you getting _drunk_?”

Sansa bit back another bubble of laughter. Maybe she _was_ getting slightly drunk. 

“Anything to tolerate this affair,” she answered. 

Arya snickered.

Nobody was asking Sansa to dance. She would have been completely humiliated, devastated even, if it weren’t for Gendry and his cocktail. He called it ‘the painkiller’ and very seriously informed Sansa that he could only give her two in good conscience. 

“It’ll knock you on your ass, trust me. Two max.”

Sansa had to agree that ‘the painkiller’ lived up to its name. She wasn’t the least bit concerned about Joffrey twirling Margery around on the dance floor, nor was she worried about Catelyn’s upcoming lecture about her lack of concern about Joffrey twirling Margery around on the dance floor. Sansa simply had a good time with Arya, and ignored the stares. Some were pitying, some were judgmental. 

  
Sansa couldn’t care less at the moment. 

“It really is a shame about the whiskey, though,” Arya murmured to Sansa thoughtfully as she watched Joffrey sip a drink. He made an odd face, but continued to drink it down in another go. 

“It doesn’t seem that pleasant,” Sansa remarked, as Joffrey slammed the glass down on the table. He was joking with his cronies, Margery looking miserable at his side. 

“I would imagine not,” Arya agreed. “Because I pissed in it.”

Sansa had been in the process of sipping her own drink. She sputtered, managing to swallow as some people nearby shot a disapproving look her way.

“You _what_?!” Sansa hissed.

Arya shrugged. “Gendry’s bar back didn’t show, so I helped him get ready. And Joffrey has a special whiskey. One that only his highness is allowed to drink. You can’t expect me to pass an opportunity like _that_ up.”

Sansa didn’t know whether to laugh or be horrified. 

“That’s disgusting, Arya!” Sansa turned her back to the wall, as laughter won out. Her frame shook with silent giggles, until finally she composed herself. 

Arya smirked as another whiskey was brought round to Joffrey. “He deserves much worse, but it was all I had on a last moment decision.”

Sansa let her eyes roam the room, and they settled on Sandor Clegane. 

He was posted near Joffrey, as inconspicuously as a man like him could be. He stood straight and still, looking very daunting and alert. His eyes swept the room and landed on her. 

They didn’t break eye contact for quite a while. Sansa found she couldn’t look away from his eyes. They were a gray color she’d never seen before, as foreboding as the darkest storm clouds. It was sexy, really, she thought. Everything about the man was gruff, rugged, manly. Also decent, judging by his words to her this evening. 

The polar opposite of his employers. 

Sansa sipped her drink without breaking eye contact. Her mouth had suddenly gone dry. 

Clegane watched her raise the glass to her lips. He wet his own lips with a dart of his tongue, then pointedly broke eye contact, looking down at Joffrey. 

“ _Sansa_ ,” Harrold Hardying stepped into her line of view. “I didn’t realize you were here! I guess I expected you to be swarmed by your friends and prospects.” He smiled as he sipped his own drink. 

“Hi, Harrold,” Sansa answered. She was well aware that Jeyne and Harrold were currently on the outs and he was looking for a rebound partner. Sansa wasn’t even remotely interested. 

“Would you like to dance?” Harrold asked, his dimples deepening as he smiled. 

Sansa would not, but she knew that she was in no position to say no. So, instead she smiled and nodded and allowed Harrold to lead her onto the floor. 

Sansa heard the beginning strings of ‘Over The Waves Waltz’ as Harrold held her like a gentleman and waltzed her carefully around the floor. 

“You’re such a good dancer,” Sansa told him. 

Harrold was in fact an excellent dancer, something Sansa was profoundly grateful for since she had to admit that she was, in fact, a little drunk. 

Harrold grinned. “You’re not too bad yourself, Miss Stark.”

They chatted a bit and danced for another song. Then Sansa was determined to part ways.

“I can’t steal you away for the _entire_ evening,” she told Harrold in what she hoped was a light, teasing tone. “All the other girls need their chance with you.”

“I’m not interested in other girls,” Harrold rolled his eyes, then smiled wolfishly at her. 

Sansa hitched her own smile firmly in place. “Well, I’m not going to be the one responsible for broken hearts tonight. Also, I really need a break.”

“All right,” Harrold told her begrudgingly. He took her hand and escorted her back to Arya, who looked bored senseless. 

“I finished your drink,” Arya told her. “And apparently it’s going to be ages before the auction begins. Want to take a walk?”

“Sure,” Sansa replied. As they headed outdoors, she frowned. “Auction? What are we auctioning this evening? Antiques? Cars?”

“No, unfortunately it’s more barbaric than those things,” Arya took a deep breath of the balmy evening air and exhaled in satisfaction. “Thank the _gods_. I honestly thought I was going to suffocate in there with all those stuffy, elitist assbags.”

“What do you mean by ‘barbaric’?” Sansa pressed.

Arya gave Sansa a sidelong look. “You really don’t know? Honestly, what is the point of buddying up to Joffrey and Company if you’re not going to _know_ things?”

“Arya, gods. Just tell me.”

They’re auctioning off dates with “young ladies”, can you believe that? So disgusting.” Arya made a face. “Who would ever come up with _that_ idea? Let alone sign themselves up to be auctioned. I’d hate to see the participants.”

Sansa felt herself grow pale. “Do you think Joffrey signed me up?” 

Arya snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. Your family is here. He’s a top tier asshole, but even he isn’t that stupid.”

Sansa prayed Arya was right. 

After some time, they went back inside. Sansa smiled and chatted, and fervently hoped the evening would end soon. She would sneak looks at Joffrey, who was behaving just this side of vulgar with Margery. He danced too closely to her, running his hands under the thin straps on the back of her dress. 

Margery played her part, staring up at him in a besotted way, but Sansa wasn’t fooled. She noted the tightness of Margery’s eyes, the forced smile. 

Finally the auction began. 

Varys, the marketing strategist of Baratheon Holdings, took his place at the podium. 

“Good evening, and thank you all so very much for joining us tonight. I’m very happy to report that we have raised nearly half a million pounds in our combined efforts for the Westerosi War Relief Fund. Let’s give a round of applause for all of our friends and neighbors!”

Everyone clapped politely at what would be a huge tax write-off for the Baratheons and Lannisters. 

“Now, to such an exciting part of our evening! Several young ladies have volunteered to accompany several of our bachelors this evening at dinner, all in the name of providing monetary assistance to the WWRF! Such gracious ladies and generous gentlemen, to be sure.”

“What a pretty way of putting it! He didn’t even make it sound like prostitution.” Arya whispered and rolled her eyes. 

“Opening bid will begin at 1,000, and will go as high as the bidder wishes. The prize, so to speak, will be an evening with a lucky young lady in the form of dinner, and drinks and dancing, if both parties so wish. Let’s begin!”

First up was Jeyne Poole, looking lovely in her gold gown. She was bid on by Ramsay Bolton, which seemed to frighten her, followed by Boris Blount, which did not seem to appease her very much. 

Finally, Harrold Hardying broke in and outbid the men, saving a gratified looking Jeyne. 

Sansa smiled privately. Those two would be at this little game forever if they just didn’t settle down and admit they were madly in love with one another. 

Several other young ladies were called up, bid upon and escorted to dinner. 

“And finally, _oh_ ,” Varys smiled at someone in the audience. “We have a surprise last minute volunteer. How gracious! Ladies and Gentlemen, our last and final prize of the evening! Miss Sansa Stark!”

Sansa froze as several smiling faces applauded and looked her way. She felt Arya grip her hand. 

On wooden legs, Sansa made her way to the stage. 

As she approached, Varys took one look at her face and immediately sensed something amiss. He reached out his hand and helped her climb onto the stage, holding it in a comforting manner as they faced the audience. 

“Let us begin,” he said cheerfully. “Do I hear 1,000?”

Sansa found her parents in the audience. They both looked as shocked as she felt. 

“I’ll offer 1,000,” Ramsay Bolton’s voice came from the back of the room. 

Sansa tried not to show any fear as she met his cold eyes and smirking gaze. 

“2,000!” Petyr Baelish called out, laughing.

Ned Stark looked ready to kill.

Oh, gods, Sansa thought. She wished she could turn and run from the room.

“5,000!” Joffrey crowed.

Everyone paused, then laughed a bit at Joffrey’s smug expression.

“8,000!” This came from Tyrion Lannister, who sat alone at a nearby table.

“All right, Uncle Tyrion. I’ll play your game. 10,000!” Joffrey looked delighted at the laughing crowd that surrounded him.

Tyrion looked quite drunk, and very weary. 

“I offer 20,000, and I suggest for both our sakes we don’t go any higher, nephew.”

“Fair enough, fair enough,” Joffrey raised his hands in surrender. “She’s all yours. For now!”

“20,000! Do I hear any higher?” Varys waited.

“20,000 going once! Going twice....sold to Tyrion Lannister!”

Sansa prayed she wouldn’t trip and fall on her face as she joined the man who’d bought her company for the evening.


	8. Chapter 8

Sansa felt like a ghost once she reached Tyrion. 

He gave her a forced smile, then downed his drink. “Hello, Sansa. As a precursor, I must admit to you that I am incredibly drunk. However, you needn’t worry, your virtue will not be in jeopardy. Now,” he hopped off his chair and looked up at her pleasantly, extending his hand. “Shall we go to dinner?”

Sansa smiled and gave him her hand. At least she wasn’t with Ramsay Bolton. Or Baelish.

As they strolled into dinner, Arya sat with Ned and Catelyn. She tried to wave Sansa over, but Joffrey stood and called to them. 

“The couple of the hour! Sansa, Tyrion! Come sit with us!”

Sansa had no choice but to trod behind Tyrion towards Joff’s table. She tried to fake a happy look for Joffrey’s benefit. 

Once she reached the table, Joffrey and Margery sat down. 

Tyrion, ever the gentleman, pulled Sansa’s seat out for her. 

Dinner was insufferable. 

Joffrey was completely wasted. He managed to very obviously grope Sansa under the table several times. Tyrion tried to ignore it, probably in order to save face, but even he grew fed up. 

“Joffrey, I must insist that you unhand my date. After all, a great deal of money went into ensuring that we enjoy ourselves.”

Joffrey leered and leaned over the table. Sansa wondered how he was still upright. 

“Of course,” he slurred. “Sansa, did you mind me putting you down as a participant in the auction? I knew you’d be...eager to please.”

Sansa wanted to slap him.

“Of course not,” she said cheerfully as she speared an artichoke stalk. “It’s for a good cause.”

“Good! That’s good to know. Because...we’re going drinking! We are leaving this _boring_ party, and Tyrion and I will take you girls out on the town!”

Sansa and Margery met each other’s eyes. Sansa wondered if she looked as horrified as Margery did. 

“Joffrey,” Tyrion began in a reasonable tone.

“No, no! I insist,” Joff stood and gestured towards Trant, who left the room. Sandor came to Joffrey’s side. “We’re going out, dog. Escort us, please.”

“All right”, Tyrion stood with a determined air. “Let’s go.”

“I...just need to get my bag,” Sansa said quickly. 

“I do too,” Margery smiled at Joffrey.

“Girls,” Joffrey groaned. “Get it and be quick about it.”

Tyrion walked with Sansa and Margery to the coat check area.

“He’s already completely trashed, and making a scene. Might as well finish him off. One more drink should do it.” Tyrion pulled a flask from his pocket and waved it at them. “He’ll pass out and hopefully forget everything. Then we’ll get you two home safely.”

Margery smirked. “Tyrion, you are an angel.”

“Gods, no,” Tyrion grimaced. “Just prepared.”

Luckily, Tyrion had been correct. He’d passed around the flask, where everyone took a drink of the finest scotch in Westeros, according to Tyrion.Sansa didn’t want to drink, but she was afraid that Joffrey would realize he was being played if she didn’t. She didn’t want to hinder Tyrion’s plan, since it was their only hope.

That was all it took. Joffrey did indeed pass out. He slumped in the back and snored softly.

“Thank the gods,” Tyrion mumbled quietly beside Sansa. Then louder, he called to Trant. “The man of the hour seems to be indisposed, boys. Care to take the ladies home?”

“We’ll get Joffrey in first,” Trant’s cold voice answered. 

“Actually, I’m just up the road,” Margery interjected quickly. “I’ll just be a quick drop, if you don’t mind? Seems silly to make you run back and forth so late at night.”

“Fine,” Trant answered. 

They pulled into the impressive Tyrell drive, heavily scented with roses. 

“Good night,” Margery told them, as she slid from the SUV before Trant could even park it, shutting the door quietly behind her. 

Next stop was Joffrey’s large penthouse, the Red Keep. It was huge and airy, the outer perimeter made up of red brick and gold accents. 

“I’ll need help getting him inside,” Trant said asthe guard allowed him into the parking garage. 

For a horrified moment, Sansa wondered if she would be stuck there all evening. 

Tyrion sighed. “I’ll get the dolly. You and I will get him inside. Clegane, can you get Sansa home? Safely, of course.”

Clegane had been silent during the ride. Now he told Tyrion, in a dry tone, “I believe I can manage that much, Mr. Lannister.” 

“Very good,” Tyrion patted Sansa’s hand as Trant pulled the car into a space beside Joffrey’s Maybach. “Sansa, I know I don’t have much to base it upon, but you were an excellent date this evening. I hope you’re not too crushed that we have to cut it so short.”

Despite herself, Sansa smiled. “I’m devastated, but I believe I can find the strength to go on.”

“I hope you do, poor thing,” Tyrion gave her an amused glance before looking out his window. “Ah, see Trant? The dolly is right where we left it the last time. How convenient.”

“Good,” Trant answered. “That thing is a bitch to maneuver.”

Sansa slid out of the car after exchanging quick goodbyes with Tyrion and creepy Trant. The she followed Sandor to a black Mustang not too far off, parked just under one of the garage lights. 

“Wow,” Sansa breathed, walking around the car, studying the shining exterior. “A 1970 Boss 302.” 

Sandor had bent to unlock the driver side door. Now he paused, looking up at her.

“You know cars?” He asked.

Emboldened by the scotch, Sansa smiled at him. “Not super well, but I do have brothers. Sometimes I actually pay attention to what they go on and on about. This car was in a James Bond movie, wasn’t it?”

“Diamonds Are Forever,” Sandor unlocked the door and got in, reaching to the passenger side and unlocking that door for Sansa.

“Yes, that was it,” Sansa agreed as she slid into the seat. “Oh, wow, Sandor....this is _gorgeous_. This must have taken you a lot of time to restore.”

Sandor blinked at her, and Sansa realized she had used his first name aloud. She tried to breeze past her blunder with more chatter.

“This _is_ your car, isn’t it?” Sansa asked him.

“Aye, it’s my car.” Once in the vehicle, Sansa noticed his strong Scottish accent. It was very appealing. 

“It looks like something you’d drive.” Sansa said thoughtlessly.

“How’s that?” Sandor asked her as he started the car. It purred to life, a deep rumble instead of the deafening roar she’d expected.

“It’s very...manly. And dark. And foreboding.” Sansa responded.

Sandor smiled for the briefest of moments. “I see.”

He pulled out of the parking garage and into the night, turning the car north on King’s Highway. 

Sansa smiled as the breeze kissed her face from the window she cracked. 

“I can turn on the air, if you’d like,” Sandor glanced over at her.

“No, this is better. It’s cooled off and the air is wonderful.” Sansa closed her eyes as she let the breeze blow over her. 

She felt an incredible sense of relief and freedom for the first time in ages. 

Once they were out of the city, Sandor revved the engine a bit. 

Sansa grinned. “Do it again!”

Sandor frowned. “Absolutely not. I’ve got orders to get you home safely.”

“Sandor, come on! What if I never get another opportunity to ride in a 1970 Boss 302 Mustang, ever again? _Please_?”

She batted her eyes at him. 

Sandor sighed. “Fine. Just for a minute.”

Sandor shifted the gears and sped up. The car raced through the night, and Sansa couldn’t stop smiling like a fool as they sped down the nearly empty highway. 

Sandor slowed the car down as they passed the Vale, an area where her Aunt Lyssa lived. 

“That was amazing!” Sansa squealed, clutching Sandor’s arm. “Robb and Jon will be out of their minds with jealousy once I tell them what I rode home in.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t tell them I took you home in my own car,” Sandor told her. “It probably doesn’t look right.”

“Will you get in trouble?” Sansa asked him. 

Sandor didn’t answer, so Sansa assumed that was a yes.

“All right, I won’t tell them. But it’s going to be very difficult to keep something like this to myself.” Sansa laughed.

Sandor glanced at her, the smallest smile on his lips. 

His burn scars were visible to Sansa in the passenger side. She realized with a surprise that she had barely noticed them. She’d been too busy staring at his muscular arms, his strong hands gripping the wheel and gearshift, his powerful legs, thigh muscles shifting as he drove. 

Sandor glanced over at her and caught her staring. 

“Probably not a pretty sight for a pretty girl like you,” Sandor told her with a shrug. “Sorry.”

Sansa blinked. “You think I’m pretty?” She asked softly.

Sandor scowled. “Everyone thinks you’re pretty.”

Sansa could scarcely breathe. “I don’t care what everyone thinks. I care what you think.”

She blushed and faced forward. Had she _really_ spoke that aloud? 

  
Gods, she was never drinking again.

Sandor looked at her, noticing her blushing cheeks. 

“I think you’re pretty,” he said softly.

Sansa turned toward him and beamed. 

“You’re not too bad yourself, you know.”

Sandor frowned. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?” 

“Return the compliment. I’m an old, scarred up dog. There’s not too much that’s pretty about me.”

It was Sansa’s turn to frown. 

“You’re not old, or a dog. You’re very handsome, in a very unique way. Trust me, I know these sorts of things. Besides, it’s rude to not accept a compliment.”

Sandor looked at her annoyed face. 

“All right, stop chirping, little bird. Thank you for the compliment.” 

Sansa laughed. “Little Bird?”

“I didn’t mean to ruffle your feathers,” Sandor told her, smiling.

“You didn’t,” Sansa assured him. “Well, not for long.”

All too soon, Sandor pulled into the Stark’s property. 

“I hope my parents aren’t awake,” Sansa sighed. “I don’t have the energy to try to explain any part of this evening to them. Not even the part about Tyrion saving me and you rescuing me.”

Sandor idled a moment at the end of the drive. 

“I guess it’ll be worse if I don’t deal with it tonight. But before I go face the interrogation, thank you. I actually enjoyed my evening once I was with you.”

Sansa leaned over and quickly kissed Sandor’s scarred cheek.

“You’re welcome,” Sandor told her. She couldn’t be sure in the dim light, but she thought he blushed.

“Good night,” Sansa told him as he drove her to the front door. 

“Good night,” Sandor answered. He waited until she reached the front door and opened it before driving away. 

Sansa wished she could go with him. She’d felt more at peace with him than she had in a long time.

Instead she walked into her house and prepared herself for what might happen next


	9. Chapter 9

“Good Morning.”

A cold voice broke into the depths of Sandor’s consciousness. 

He opened one bleary eye with great effort. Just in time to be pierced by light from the window shade that Meryn Trant raised. 

Sandor let out a snarl and ducked his already throbbing head back under the covers.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” 

“It’s time for you to arise, Mr. Clegane. You’re being summoned to Mr. Baratheon’s home.”

Sandor threw off the covers of his bed and glared at Trant. 

“It’s my day off.”

“ _Was_ your day off, I’m afraid. Now let’s get moving. You know it upsets Joffrey to wait for too long on anything.”

Trant stood and headed for the door. 

“You’ve got 10 minutes.”

“Don’t tell me what to do in my own fucking house.”

“It’s a favor, Clegane. Just trying to help you keep your employment.”

Trant ducked out. Sandor arose from the bed with a groan. He headed toward the bathroom where he showered and dressed with one eye open. 

Sandor hadn’t drank that much in a very long time. Not since he was stationed in Blackwater. 

Last night with Sansa had nearly undone him. Her easy company, the way she looked in that dress, riding beside him in his car...the way she smiled and kissed his cheek. It had, for the briefest of moments, given Sandor some sort of peculiar notion. One that made him feel, in another life maybe, that a girl like Sansa Stark might be attracted to him. 

That would never do. So Sandor had came home, opened a bottle of Jack, and pounded drink after drink until he thought he might be able to convince himself that last night had been a drunken delusion. 

Unfortunately, it hadn’t completely worked. He remembered everything from last night. In far too much detail.

Sandor managed to brush his teeth without gagging. He wondered what kind of fuckery Joffrey had in store for him. 

Trant was waiting in the living room. As Sandor approached, he held up bottled water. 

Sandor took it and drank in just a few gulps. 

“Coffee’s in the car. Let’s go.”

“I can drive.”

“Not today, sorry.”

Sandor had gone into his tiny kitchen to grab his phone and a banana. He turned and faced Trant.

“There isn’t one bloody reason for me to not drive myself. Or is there?”

“It’s a surprise,” Trant gave a smirk. 

Sandor was too hungover to argue. He grabbed his keys as well and followed Trant out the door. 

Once they arrived, Sandor was somewhat recovered. The caffeine and tiny bit of starch helped. Also, he needed to be on alert for any bullshit. Something told him that whatever Joff had planned, it wasn’t something fun. 

Joffrey scowled as they walked in. 

“Look who finally decided to show. You two realize I’ve been waiting over half an hour?” 

Neither man said anything. 

Joffrey sighed dramatically. “Let’s get on with it.”

He crossed his arms and leaned against his bar, looking very harassed. 

“My parents have decided to force my hand. Soon I’ll be expected to announce my engagement,” Joffrey looked as if he’d swallowed something nasty. “In 21 days, actually. I had to argue for another week, after they tried to pin me down in just two. Can you imagine? Two weeks to decide on a  wife . It’s _unimaginable_ , I know.”

Sandor felt as if his stomach had gone hollow. 

“The options are, of course, Sansa Stark and Margery Tyrell. I knew this from the beginning, obviously. But we’re at an impasse, it would seem. My parents want me to choose Sansa, and I would prefer Margery, at this stage. So, a proposition was in order. A compromise, if you will. I am going to spend a week courting Margery, and a week courting Sansa. I’ll need extra security since we can’t have anyone questioning the virtue of either lady. I mean, I can’t exactly bring them here and play house for a week, as much as I’d like to,” Joff smirked. “Though that would certainly cut to the chase, wouldn’t it?”

“What are you planning?” Sandor already had his phone out, calendar app opened. 

“So, the thing is,” Joffrey continued. “I have different weeks planned for both ladies. Margery and I will fly to Dorne. Away from prying eyes, to visit the Martells. I’d really like to get to know her....better. She fascinates me. Loras will come along, in order to appease Grandmother Tyrell. Plenty of Dornish beauties to occupy him while I occupy myself with his sister.” Joffrey laughed.   


Trant joined in.  


Sandor did not. 

“As for Sansa,” Joffrey rolled his eyes. “I don’t know. Not as fun with Sansa. I’ll visit her at home for a fucking family dinner. We’ll likely end up at Casterly Rock, again. I can suggest anything and she’ll go along with it. I’ll make it up as I go.”

Joffrey handed Trant some paperwork. “You’re going to Dorne. It’s all been arranged. And you,” Joffrey turned to Sandor and smirked. “You’re in charge of guarding the potential virgin bride. Make sure nothing scandalous happens with her while I’m out of town.”

“We leave tonight,” Joffrey told Trant. “And Clegane, your post with Ice Lady Stark begins first thing tomorrow. Please try not to die of boredom.”

Joffrey went into the kitchen and came back with a set of keys.   
  


“Take the Range while you’re on the job. I guess I can’t expect you to escort her around in your own car. It wouldn’t speak well of the Baratheons, to fly the Tyrells out on a private plane while the Stark girl is stuck riding around in my bodyguard’s personal vehicle.”

  
So that’s how Sandor ended up back at his apartment on a sunny afternoon, palms sweating as he tried to dial Sansa Stark’s number. 

Finally he screwed up enough courage and went through with it. 

“Hello?” Sansa’s voice sounded on the other end of the line. 

Sandor nearly hung up but forced himself to push through. “Miss Stark? It’s Sandor Clegane.”

“Sandor?” Sansa sounded breathless for a moment. She paused, her voice more composed when she spoke again. “Mr. Clegane, I’m sorry. How are you?”

“You can call me Sandor, if you’d like,” he told her. Truth was, he wasn’t ready to admit to himself how good he felt when she said his name. “And I’m well. I hope you are, too.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“I’m calling on behalf of Joffrey. He would like for you to be under my supervision while he has to take a last minute trip out of town. Has he spoken to you?”

“Oh,” Sansa paused. “Um, no. I’ve not spoken to him yet.”

Of fucking course. The little prick just couldn’t be bothered with anything important. Sandor took a silent breath and continued. 

“It was a bit sudden, so he might not have had the chance. Are you opposed to me being your security for the next week?”

There was a slight pause, then Sansa answered slowly, “No, I suppose not. I’m not sure why it’s necessary, but if Joffrey thinks it it is, I’ll agree to it.”

“All right. I’ll be by later with the paperwork. Just a few forms to sign, for your protection and mine. Is there a time that works best for you?”

“How about...seven? Is that good for you?”

“Seven works. I’ll see you then.”

After they hung up, Sandor glanced at the clock. It wasn’t even 2pm.

How was he going to survive five more hours of waiting?

_It’s a job, Clegane_ , he told himself firmly. 

So he forced himself to prepare as if it were any other job. He ran errands, did his laundry, checked his arsenal, went to the shooting range for practice, did a bit of grocery shopping, cleaned his already spotless apartment, showered, trimmed his beard, put on fucking cologne, and spent far too much time deciding which all black ensemble he was going to wear that evening. 

Soon, Sandor decided it would be okay if he left. He drove carefully to Winterfell, following every traffic law, and still made it to the Stark’s home about ten minutes early. 

As he pulled in the drive, he noticed the Stark boys playing basketball on a court at the side of the house. 

Shit. He’d forgotten about her huge fucking family. 

They turned to stare as Sandor parked the car and got out. Two of the boys raced over, gaping at the car. 

“It’s a mustang...what year is it?” The younger, auburn haired boy demanded as he ran around the car, looking it over. He ducked his head into the door Sandor still held open. 

“Sweet! It’s got fully restored interior! How much horsepower?”

The other dark-haired boy, not much older than the first, smiled politely at Sandor. “It’s a 1970 right?”

“Aye, it is.” Sandor nodded at him. “Good eye.”

“It’s like 40 years old! It’s a classic!” The youngest boy stood and whooped at the others who hovered in the background. “Theon! Robb! Jon! Come see! It’s a 1970 and it’s awesome!”

Sandor chuckled at the kid, despite his reservation. 

“That’s Rickon,” the other boy told him. “I’m Bran.”

“Nice to meet you both.” Sandor told him. He reached in the car, and pulled out his paperwork. “I’m Sandor Clegane.”

“Sansa told us you were coming,” Rickon replied. For the love of the gods, he was in the car and climbing around, looking at everything. “She told me I had to be on my best behavior.”

Bran smirked. “Looks like you listened really well. Get out of the man’s car, Rickon. You might scratch something.”

“Hello, Sandor,” Ned Stark had put the ball down and walked towards Sandor, wearing basketball shorts and a T-shirt. “Sansa said you’d be stopping by.”

Sandor was grateful that Sansa had warned everyone that he was coming. It was an awkward task, and the courteous little bird had tried to help put him at ease. 

“Hey,” Sansa’s pretty boy brother, Robb, had joined them. He flashed his perfect smile as he joined Rickon. “Nice ride.” 

“Can you pop the hood? Please?” Rickon tugged Robb closer to Sandor. 

“Rickon,” Ned admonished in a warning tone. 

“No, it’s fine.” Sandor reached under the dash and popped the hood for Rickon. 

“ _Whoa_ ,” Rickon slowly and carefully lifted the hood and propped it on the wire. “Look at it!”

Suddenly, Sandor had the every male Stark in the premises surrounding his vehicle, while firing off questions. 

“How fast have you made it go?”

“Is that the original engine?”

“Was it a red color when you first bought it?”

“Can you turn it on so I can see the V8?”

“All right, all right,” Ned Stark laughed. “There will be plenty of time for all this later. Mr. Clegane might be around quite a bit this week. Perhaps, if you don’t pester him relentlessly, he might have time to talk cars.”

Ned turned to Sandor, all business, and looked every inch the board member at Baratheon Holdings. Even in basketball shorts.

“Shall we go take a look at that paper work?”

“Sure,” Sandor answered, following Ned inside. 

Catelyn was ready and waiting at the dining room table, where Sandor and Ned joined her. 

“Shall we wait on Sansa?” Ned asked his wife. “Where is she?”

“I’m here,” Sandor felt heart leap as he heard her voice, from behind him.

She hurried into the room, wearing a long purple sundress, her glorious hair flying behind her. Her skin was golden from being in the sun, and her cheeks were rosy. She looked like a goddess.

Not that Sandor took anything other than a professional interest.

Catelyn gave Sansa a thoughtful look, then turned her attention back to Sandor. 

“So, this whole....bodyguard thing.” Catelyn began. “What is this about, exactly? Does Joffrey expect some sort of nefarious act to take place against Sansa while he is gone?”

“Joffrey simply wished for every precaution to be taken while he was out of town. He likes to practice due diligence in all situations, and cares about Miss Stark’s well-being in his absence.” Sandor felt like a robot as he recited this. 

Truth be told, Sandor was a bit confused himself about why Joffrey had assigned him to protect Sansa. Alsohe knew that Joffrey acted in his own self-interest, in all things.

“I see,” Catelyn still looked confused. “I confess, I still don’t understand.”

“I think,” Ned shifted in his seat to look at his wife. “Joffrey is quite interested in our Sansa. And his interest includes her welfare, and anything she might get up to while he’s gone.”

Catelyn opened her mouth, then shut it abruptly. 

Ned gave Sandor a conspiratorial smile. “I know you’re not at liberty to say, but providing that you don’t cross any boundaries with privacy or safety, I don’t see the harm in having Mr. Clegane around. Not if it puts Joffrey’s mind at ease. What do you think, Sansa?”

Sansa smiled weakly. “I suppose it will be fine.”

Sandor passed out the paperwork and everyone read it and signed. 

“All right, well, I’ll be getting this to Mr. Baratheon. I’ll return tomorrow morning at 8am.” 

“We’ll see you then,” Catelyn smiled at Sandor.

As Sandor left, he turned to close the door behind him. 

Sansa’s eyes caught his, as she stood alone in the entryway. She smiled at him, a wide, genuine smile. 

Then she was gone. 

As Sandor marched back to his car, he tried not to read too much into that smile. 

_ Not for you, definitely not for you, don’t even think it, Clegane....Don’t even think it. _


	10. Chapter 10

Sansa woke feeling refreshed and ready to take on the day. She couldn’t remember the last time she had gotten such restful sleep and awoken without a pit in her stomach. The only flutter of nerves she felt upon waking were flutters of excitement.

“ _You’ll be spending the day with Sandor. No wonder you’re excited. You’ve thought only of him since the night of the gala_ ,” the hidden, secret part of her heart whispered.

Sansa told that part of her to hush. She was simply excited that Joffrey had assigned her one of his own personal guards. Surely the next, more serious courtship step was not far off. They’d be announcing their engagement by summer’s end, and she’d be Westerosi royalty in no time. 

“ _Liar_ ”, the voice whispered again. “ _You don’t want to marry Joffrey. You can barely tolerate his company.”_

Sansa decided it would be a good time to stop talking to herself and get out of bed.

Down in the kitchen, Catelyn frowned at Sansa’s choice of outfit.

“That’s a lovely top, darling. Is it new?”

Sansa glanced down at her plum colored fitted T-shirt and artfully distressed jeans.

“Yes and it’s so soft. Feel it.”

Catelyn dutifully rubbed the sleeve of the top between her fingers. “Comfy,” she remarked.

“What are your plans today, darling? We’ll be meeting the Hardyings for tea and tennis.”

“I have a few things I need to take to campus,” Sansa answered, opening the cabinets to get out her tea and honey. “Some things for Professor Luwin’s class. He also has some articles about Dragonstone that he thinks will be helpful for my thesis. Then I’m supposed to meet Margery for shopping again.”

“How nice,” Catelyn answered. “Will you be home for dinner?”

“Most likely, but I’ll call you if I run late. Margery might be in the mood for a marathon shopping trip. I’ll let you know early on, either way.” Sansa replied.

Sansa helped Catelyn with the oatmeal for Bran and Rickon, then sent the boys upstairs to brush their teeth and dress.

The bell rang. Sansa fought to catch her breath, telling herself that it would be a very long week if she reacted this way each time Sandor came around.

All the same, Sansa felt her heart speed up as Sandor followed the housekeeper into the kitchen. The big room, done in earth tones and Spanish tile was large and airy, but Sandor seemed to swallow all the space and air of the warm area when he walked in.

“Good morning,” Sandor told the women. Catelyn smiled as she left the room, going to check on the boys progress, no doubt.

Sandor cocked his head toward Sansa. 

“Morning,” Sansa answered as casually as she could manage. She took the kettle and poured it into a mug for her tea. She turned to Sandor, who was watching her intensely.  


It made her feel very warm, and she felt color rush to her cheeks. 

“Would you like some tea?”

Sandor lifted a takeaway cup that must have been half hidden behind his powerful leg. “I’m a coffee man, but thank you for offering.”

Sansa nodded and made deliberately slow work of pouring her water, adding her tea, steeping it and adding her honey. She also added lemon. 

Sansa sipped her tea and tried not to stare at Sandor. He was dressed in his usual black attire. A crisp black shirt, black trousers and boots. His hair was carefully combed,his beard neatly trimmed. She caught a waft of cologne as he shifted to sip his coffee. A clean, spicy scent that was pleasant and not overpowering. 

The man was as unassuming and modest as possible. He couldn’t help that he was so large and powerful. 

Sansa finished her tea, feeling her head clear a bit. 

“I need to visit campus. I have some articles to pick up from Professor Luwin in the media building.”

Sansa wasn’t sure how to go about having security. Did she tell him her agenda for the day? What if something came up or changed? She felt a bit like she would be making demands and expecting him to follow. Which was the idea, but she still felt slightly uncomfortable. 

Sandor simply nodded and drained his coffee, tossing it into the nearby trash can. 

“All right,” he answered. “I’ve got a car, and my orders are pretty simple. You tell me where to go, I take you. It’s part of my job, to be prepared for all different sorts of scenarios.”

Sansa smiled. “I feel like a demanding princess, telling you where we’re going and when.”

Sandor quirked one side of his mouth. “That is the idea. Might take you some getting used to, I suppose.”

“I’ll just get my things and we can go, if you’re ready?”

“Ready when you are, Miss Stark.”

Sansa ran upstairs to grab her bag and made sure she had her campus ID card. She brushed her teeth and combed through her hair once again, making sure her makeup was still in place. She added a bit of gloss to her lips and sprayed herself with her favorite perfume, which she had avoided doing earlier, not wanting to arouse Catelyn’s suspicions as to why she’d want to primp just to run errands with Joffrey’s bodyguard all day. 

Sansa put on her sandals and forced herself to not hurry downstairs. She took her time and made a show of double checking her things.

Sandor was downstairs speaking to Ned. Both men paused their conversation as Sansa descended the staircase. Ned gave Sansa a fond, fatherly look.  


Sandor’s look was harder to read. He looked almost pained, and very intense.

Was that how all bodyguards looked at their “clients”? It was quite intimidating. 

“I’m off to campus for some articles. Bye, Dad,” Sansa pecked Ned’s cheek. 

“Have a good day,” Ned answered, watching them leave. 

Sansa followed Sandor out the door and to a Land Rover parked in the drive. 

“No mustang today,” Sansa sighed.

Sandor looked at her in surprise for a moment then his eyes crinkled. 

“Sorry to disappoint. Work requires authorized vehicles.”

“Can I at least sit up front with you?” Sansa hedged. “I feel silly being driven around alone in the back. It makes me feel like a child.”

Sandor paused, then nodded. “If you’d like, Miss Stark.”

Sansa got in the passenger door that Sandor opened for her. Once he was in the driver’s side, he turned the car on and the cool air kissed her skin delightfully.

Sansa made a notes for when she shopped today. This summer was going to be bloody hot. She needed some clothes suited for this weather.

Sandor drove them down the drive and onto the main road that led to the University. 

“I suppose I’ll just tell you my plans for the day? That seems....” Sansa hesitated. 

“Courteous?” Sandor offered. 

Sansa smirked. “Very funny, but yes. It’s not fair to make you bow and accommodate my every whim.”

Sandor gave her a look. “I’m just along for the ride, Miss Stark. With all due respect, that’s exactly what you’re supposed to do. I follow you.”

Sansa sighed and nearly cringed in discomfort. “This is so...okay. Fair enough. But you have to call me Sansa and not Miss Stark.”

“All right,” Sandor replied. “And you can call me Sandor if you wish. Or Clegane. Whichever you prefer.”

“Sandor,” Sansa smiled. 

Sandor shifted slightly in his seat. “Fine by me.”

“I have to pick up these articles, they’re for my thesis that I’ll be working on this summer. I’m hoping they’ll help me get an internship by the spring.”

“What are you going to school for? If you don’t mind me asking?” Sandor stared at the road. 

“I don’t mind,” Sansa answered. “I’m getting a degree in communications, focusing on journalism.”

“Really?” Sandor said, sounding slightly surprised. 

“Really,” Sansa told him, raising an eyebrow. “Why? What did you expect? Honestly, I’m curious. I won’t hold it against you.”

Sandor thought a moment. 

“Actually, I think journalism suits you. I can’t think of another alternative, now that you’ve said it.”

“Really?” Sansa answered, unable to keep the smile from her face. “What makes you say that?”

Sandor paused, as if he were thinking. 

“You’ve got an easy way about you, but you’re still well-spoken and always polite. Probably have no trouble getting the information you need from people. You seem to be open-minded. That’s the sort of person people need, to spill their guts.”

Sansa laughed. “I’m so happy to hear you say that. Most people think it’s just a silly idea I’ve gotten in my head, and that I’ll never do much with it. They don’t understand how much I enjoy everything about it.”

Sandor smiled. “Well you’ll just have to show everyone what you can do, won’t you?”

“I plan on it,” Sansa answered. “Hopefully I’ll succeed.”

“After your articles, what then?”

“Well, I’m supposed to go shopping with Margery, which will probably be quite boring for you. I do apologize in advance,” Sansa looked through her phone at her unanswered calls and texts to Margery. “We made plans early yesterday, but I haven’t been able to contact her at all today. That’s strange.”

Sandor cleared his throat. 

Sansa sighed. “I supposed I could go along without her. It would make the shopping trip a lot shorter.”

“Whatever you like. I should warn you, I might not be as much fun as Margery. We go where you say.” Sandor told her, turning into the road that led to the main building of King’s University. “Media building, right?”

Sansa was always glad to see Professor Luwin. He was a kindly older gentleman who had taught her parents, brothers, and now Sansa. 

“Sansa, hello. I was hoping you’d stop by today. Please come in.” Professor Luwin met them in the hall in front of his office, leading the way inside. “And you’ve brought a friend. I’m Professor Luwin.” The professor stuck out his hand and gave Sandor a friendly smile. 

Sandor took it, managing not to scowl. “Sandor Clegane.”

“Ah, an associate of Joffrey Baratheon, is that right? Very good, very good.” Luwin turned to rummage inside a long desk that ran along the entire wall of his office. It had what looked to be dozens of compartments and drawers, as well as neat stacks of papers lining the surface. 

Luwin finally pulled open a drawer and found what he was looking for. “Here we are! Sansa, dear, if you don’t mind, step outside the office and make copies of these. Two of each should suffice.”

Sansa took the yellowed articles carefully and left the office, stopping at the copiers in the main area of the combined offices. 

Sandor trailed her, watching as she worked the complicated looking machine, pushing buttons and carefully sliding the articles in to be scanned and copied. 

“Well, hello, Miss Stark,” A deep sounding voice came from the doorway of an office. 

Sansa turned and paled slightly under her makeup. 

“Professor Bolton,” Sansa smiled weakly, turning her attention to the copier once more. “I’m making copies for Professor Luwin.”

Professor Bolton smiled as if it pained him, but he held this smile as he regarded Sansa with cold eyes. His gaze flickered to Sandor, then back to Sansa. 

“Friend of yours?” He asked. 

“What?” Sansa was distracted, trying to get her papers and resetting the copier as quickly as possible. “Oh, yes, this is Sandor Clegane. Sandor, this is Professor Bolton.”

“Roose Bolton,” the man nodded once at Sandor, making no move to shake hands. “If I’m not mistaken, and I rarely am, you are employed by the Baratheons, yes? As a guard dog to their son.”

“You’d be correct,” Sandor told him dryly. 

“Sandor is a guest at our home for the week,” Sansa informed Roose haughtily. She drew closer to Sandor, as if _she_ were the one guarding  _ him. _

“Is he?” Roose lay some papers down on the copier. “That’s interesting. Joffrey must have taken Trant with him on his little jaunt to Dorne.”

A flicker of confusion passed Sansa’s eyes, for the briefest moment. Then she turned away, shuffling her papers. 

“It was nice to see you, Professor Bolton. Please tell Walda I said hello.”

“Of course,” Roose said, smirking. 

Sansa took the papers quietly back to Professor Luwin. She thanked him and left quickly, hurrying down the hall to the exit. 

Sandor felt the storm clouds gathering. Sansa wasn’t stupid. She was beginning to put things together, and the picture wasn’t pretty.

Once in the car, Sandor started it and asked Sansa, “Where to, Miss Stark?”

Sansa let out a breath. “Were you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what?” Sandor asked, navigating them off the college campus. 

Sansa turned to him. “Why is Joffrey going to Dorne?”

Sandor sighed and pulled over in a Starbucks. 

“Let’s get coffee. Or tea, in your case.”

“Sandor-“ 

Sandor raised a finger to his lips. 

Sansa huffed but followed him out of the car and into the Starbucks. 


	11. Chapter 11

Once they had their drinks, and had found a quiet corner, Sandor rubbed his face. 

“I could lose my job for this, but quite frankly, fuck it. The short of it is, Joffrey was given an ultimatum a few days ago. Someone, and I suspect it’s Tywin or Cersei, is determined that he announce his engagement to either you or Margery by the end of Summer. In the spirit of fairness, this week he is giving his attentions to Margery; the following week is yours. Your father had the right of it, I’m here to watch you, it’s not strictly for protection.”

Sansa bit her lip, then took a long swallow of her tea. “I see,” she answered ineffectually. 

“And yes, as far as I know, Joffrey took Margery and Loras with him to Dorne.” Sandor couldn’t believe he was telling her this.

Sansa shook her head. “No wonder.” She sat her tea down, and leaned back in her seat staring out the window.

“No wonder?” Sandor echoed. 

Sansa sighed and faced him. 

“No wonder he wanted Meryn Trant to go to Dorne, and left you to tend to me. Trant’s not....a gentleman, like you are.”

Sandor snorted. 

“Hush,” Sansa told him sternly. “You might be a bit rough around the edges, but you’re decent underneath it all.”

“You don’t know that,” Sandor warned her. “You don’t know _me_. Not really.”

“Oh?” Sansa raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Should I be worried about being alone with you?”

“Of course not,” Sandor scowled. 

“Of course not,” Sansa repeated. “You’re a very intimidating man, Sandor Clegane. You’re huge, and you’re made of all muscle. You hardly ever smile. But I’m not afraid of you. Because I know that you’re a good man, underneath the gruff exterior.”

“Well, hopefully I intimidate someone besides you,” Sandor’s demeanor changed abruptly. He half rose in his seat, on alert. “Now, I need you to do exactly as I say. Are you listening?”

Sansa felt her eyes widen in surprise. 

“Don’t move too quickly, just leave your drink and come to me.”

Sansa opened her mouth to argue, then closed it abruptly at the serious look on his face. His gray eyes scanned the area like a hawk, sharp, laser focused. 

Sansa slowly rose from and walked to Sandor’s side. 

“Stay right with me no matter what,” Sandor put an arm around her waist, keeping her close to him. 

Sansa felt too afraid to think, just let Sandor lead her out of the sitting area and towards the front door. 

Suddenly a gun shot sounded, followed by the sound of shattering glass. 

A bullet struck the wall directly beside the table where Sansa and Sandor sat. 

Chaos erupted in the restaurant. Sandor tucked Sansa into his side, shielding her with his own body. 

They hurried to the Land Rover, where Sandor all but shoved her in. “Stay down,” he ordered slamming the door shut. 

Sansa crouched down as close as she could to the floor board, heart racing. 

“Please, please, _please_ , Sandor,” Sansa whimpered a prayer along to the beat of her pounding heart. 

The drivers side opened and Sandor dove in, starting the car. He scanned the area and gunned the vehicle. They bumped away quickly, and Sandor sped along what Sansa guessed was the main road. 

“You can sit up now, Sansa.” His voice was controlled, calm. 

Sansa crawled up into her seat, trembling.

Sandor sped down the highway, weaving through traffic. He glanced in the rear view mirror from time to time. 

“Are we being followed?” Sansa felt hollow but was surprised at how steady her voice sounded. 

“I don’t think so,” Sandor replied. “But I’m going to make sure nobody is trailing us. Then we’re going to a safe place.”

They drove for what seemed like ages, as Sandor doubled back on each road he took, presumably to throw off any possible pursuers. 

Finally, they turned onto a small road that led uphill, under a cover of heavily wooded area. 

After a few minutes, an iron gate appeared. Sandor stopped, punched a number in, and drove through as the gate opened.

“Where are we?” Sansa asked. All she could see all around them was trees and tall iron fencing. 

“A safe house,” Sandor answered. 

After about another quarter of a mile uphill, Sandor pulled in front of a house. He pushed a button on his key ring and the garage opened. 

Driving them in, Sandor watched as the doors shut behind them. Only then did he slightly relax his grip on the steering wheel. 

Sansa had a million thoughts running through her head. Who had shot at them? Why? Were they safe now? 

To her dismay, she began to tremble. 

Sandor noticed. “Hold on, little bird.” He told her, getting out of the car. He walked around to her side and opened the door. 

“Can you walk?”

Sansa couldn’t speak, just nodded. She forced herself to get out, trembling violently. Even her teeth chattered, and she couldn’t stop any of it. 

Sandor cursed softly, helping her to the side door in the garage. He unlocked it and opened it, locking it up as soon as they were inside. 

It was a kitchen area with surveillance. Outfitted with an alarm system and cameras, which Sandor activated immediately with the press of a few buttons. 

“All right,” he told her gently. “We’re all right now.”

“Where are we?” Sansa’s voice was shaky. 

“A place I keep for situations such as this. Clegane’s Keep, I call it, though that’s mostly a joke. Nobody called Clegane is around anymore, except me. This actually was considered the family home a long time ago. Now it’s pretty much my safe house. Nobody knows it exists, and if they did, they’d never be able to find it.” Sandor gave the still-shaking Sansa a worried glance. “Let’s go to the den.”

Sansa followed him into the den, lined with dark leather sofas and chairs. There was a fireplace and a television, along with a desk and a bookshelf lined with books. 

“Here”, Sandor reached into a chest nearby and pulled out a throw blanket. He wrapped it around Sansa and gently led her to one of the sofas. 

“Nobody can get to you here. If anyone even tried, I’d kill them. It’s all right, Sansa.”

Sansa wrapped the blanket around her tightly. 

“I can’t imagine why someone would want to shoot me,” she said. “Or you. It just doesn’t make sense.”

Sandor sat down beside her, shaking his head. 

“No, it doesn’t. I need to make some calls. Will you be all right?” 

Without even thinking, Sansa reached over and grabbed his hand. 

“Can you....” Sansa couldn’t stop shaking. “Will you...hold me for just a minute?” 

Sansa knew she sounded completely pathetic, but she couldn’t stop herself from asking. 

Sandor paused, an odd look on his face. 

“I’m sorry,” Sansa forced a laugh. “Of course I’ll be fine. Go ahead, do what you need to do.”

Sandor ran a hand through his hair, then turned to her. 

Slowly, he opened his arms and inched towards her.

With a rush of relief, Sansa burrowed herself into his torso, sighing in contentment as his arms wrapped around her.

He was strong and solid, and so, so warm. Sansa felt her trembling subside, as she inhaled his clean spicy scent, comfortable against his rock hard chest. It was better than even the softest feather bed. 

Instinctively, she nuzzled even closer, her arms wrapping around him. Without thinking, her hands began to stroke his back, as if she were giving comfort as well. 

Sandor stiffened at her touch but didn’t pull away. 

Sansa looked up at him. His face was so close to hers that she could make out every eyelash that framed his gray eyes. 

“You saved us. I never dreamed I’d need to be saved, and you were magnificent.” Sansa’s hand reached up to cup his scarred jaw. “Thank you.”

Sandor stared at her, completely still. 

Sansa prayed he felt her gratitude, even as she let go. Sandor allowed her to pull away, wordlessly. He looked slightly stunned for a moment, then sprang into action. 

“I’m going to call your parents,” Sandor slid off the couch and reached into his pocket for his phone. “Gods only know what they’ve heard so far.”

Sandor dialed and waited. “Ned? Yes, she’s-“

Sandor paused and listened. “She’s fine. She’s-“

Another long pause while Catelyn must have gotten on the phone. Sansa could hear her mother from across the room.

Sandor sighed and crossed over to Sansa. 

“Your mother,” he told Sansa, in a voice torn between between exasperation and amusement. 

Sansa took it, wincing. 

“Hi, mother. I’m fine, Sandor-“

Sansa was cut off and could only lean back into the couch to listen


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to keep you all waiting on an update for so long! My only excuse is life. Just life. Hopefully there will be no more delays as we head into SanSan fluff and smut! 
> 
> *Note* I am removing the non-con tag from the story, because the non-con situation will no longer be present in the story. It isn’t necessary in the progression of the story. I know that many of us have triggers concerning that particular topic and it’s just no longer worth including that type of scenario to me. Our mental health and well-being is worth more. Lots and lots of love to you all!

“How long will we need to stay here?”

Sansa had curled up on the sofa with the throw and was watching Sandor pace. 

“Depends,” he answered, as he stared out of a window. 

“On?” Sansa prompted. 

“On when, and if, I think it’s safe to leave,” Sandor replied, resuming his pacing.

Sansa sighed and slid off the sofa. 

“Do you have any idea as to what is going on?” Sansa joined Sandor, following him from room to room. “I can’t see what sort of threat I’d pose to anyone. Nothing that would warrant my death, at any rate.”

Sandor had paused his restless movement and was now scowling at his phone. 

“What?” Sansa demanded. “Do you see something?”

“No, but we aren’t going to leave from here any time soon. The city is crawling with people looking for us.” Sandor scrolled through his phone, brow furrowed. 

“What sort of people?” Sansa asked hesitantly.

“A few cops, most likely the kind that are in the pocket of some bad men. The rest are just shifty bastards that we need to stay far away from,” Sandor replied. 

Then he was back on the phone. 

“Ned? Yes, I’ve been watching. It seems that they’re everywhere. I don’t think it would be wise for us to leave here. Definitely not tonight at any rate. We are safe, yes, and I would advise that you allow Sansa to stay here until I can find out....what?” Sandor scowled. “Yes, it will just be Sansa and myself....Well, unfortunately, I wasn’t planning for a group retreat when gunfire was opened on us...of course she’ll be safe here. I’m not exactly sure what you’re implying, but my only concern is for your daughter’s security and safety....all right, here’s Sansa.”

Sansa took the phone from Sandor with an apologetic smile. 

“Hi, dad....no, I’m fine...I’m was just scared. No, I’m not scared here. I do feel safe here, I’m just afraid of going back out right now. Who would want me dead? It doesn’t make sense....no, please just keep everyone home and safe. I won’t worry as much if I know you all are safe....yes, I promise I’ll call you often. Of course....I love you, too. Bye.”

Sansa handed the phone back to Sandor. 

“Looks like I’ll be your guest tonight,”

Sansa told him. 

Sandor nodded. “Let’s see what we can do about a room.”

A few hours later, Sandor and Sansa had found rooms next door to one another. They were clean, if a bit musty from a long period of vacancy. 

Sandor ran a small vacuum and dusted the furniture. He also changed the bedding. Sansa watched with amusement, since he refused to allow her to help. 

“You know, I don’t think your duties include housekeeping,” Sansa told him. 

Sandor snorted. “You’d be surprised.”

After Sandor finished cleaning up, he turned to Sansa. 

“Hungry?” 

Sansa realized suddenly that she had only had tea that day. Her stomach began hunger pains in protest. 

“Starving, actually.”

She followed Sandor into a kitchen furnished with stainless steel appliances and sleek marble countertops. 

“Very nice,” she told him running her hand along the shining kitchen island. 

“It serves its purpose,” Sandor replied nonchalantly. 

Sansa smirked. “I’m sure it does. What are we cooking this evening?”

“It looks like...” Sandor opened the pantry and freezer, rummaging about. “Macaroni and cheese, frozen chicken tenders, and canned vegetables.”

“All my favorites,” Sansa laughed. “What to drink?” 

“Bottled water. And good red wine from the cellar,” Sandor smiled, just a bit.

“I think you’re supposed to pair chicken with with a Chardonnay,” Sansa teased. 

“Really? I had figured the red would complement our cheese dish,” Sandor’s eyes twinkled playfully. 

Sansa laughed “My mistake, you’re right.”

They ate at the dining room table, a formal room decorated mostly in glass and crystal. 

They finished their meal. Sandor cleaned efficiently, waving away Sansa’s offer to help. She sat and pouted a bit in the dining room, at a bit of a loss. Until Sandor opened the second bottle of wine, at least. 

“So how did you get to become a bodyguard, anyway?” Sansa asked. She was feeling the warmth of the wine, and gods knew they didn’t have much else to talk about at the moment. 

Sandor shrugged. “I was a soldier. Did my time in Blackwater, the Class Riots. I fought alongside Trant, and we both seemed like natural candidates for the job.”

Sansa grimaced in sympathy. “Blackwater....gods, all that fire. That must have been horrible.”

“It wasn’t my idea of fun,” Sandor responded, taking a long drink of wine. “But that’s not where I got these scars.”

Sansa blinked at the sudden turn in the conversation. “Oh....I didn’t mean-“

“You didn’t mean anything, but you were wondering. I don’t mind. I got these from a childhood accident. I had an older brother, one who didn’t take kindly to sharing. We were camping, on holiday, and I discovered one of his toy soldiers while he was fishing. He caught me, grabbed me and shoved my face into the campfire. It took my father a little while to pull him off me.” 

Sansa gaped. “Oh my gods, Sandor. I can’t even imagine....I’m so sorry.”

Sandor shrugged. “It was years and years ago.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sansa shot back, hotly. “I’m sorry, but that was no accident. Your brother sounds like a monster.”

Sandor’s mouth quirked. “He was a monster. He was cruel to many people. He finally met his end when he tangled with the wrong person. He was shot and killed during a hit gone awry.”

Good, Sansa thought,though she didn’t dare to speak it aloud. 

“Finish your wine, Little Bird.” Sandor topped off her glass. “We’ve a long evening ahead did of us.”

Sansa drained her glass and refilled it. 

“What made you want to major in journalism?” Sandor asked her. 

Sansa gave him a cautious glance, then noting that he didn’t seem to be teasing or mocking her, decided to answer. 

“I’ve always been interested in people, I suppose. I know that most of the Westerosi population think I’m a silly, privileged girl with no regard for anyone but herself, but I do like to know what’s going on in the world. I also like to hear about it from the people who’ve lived it. And I’d like to do that as a career.” Sansa shrugged and took another drink. “Although, I should confess, initially I chose communications as my major. I thought it was something for people like me, people who didn’t know what they wanted to do. I never thought of myself as particularly clever or gifted in any area, but I found that I actually enjoyed it.”

Sandor looked at her in disbelief. Then he lowered his eyes as he drank. 

“You’re no fool, that much I know. I’ve spent time around a great deal of fools. You might be a bit green, but I’d never say you weren’t clever.”

Sansa smiled. “You’re just saying that to be kind.”

“I never say things just to be kind,” Sandor replied seriously. 

Sensing she’d annoyed him in some way, Sansa flushed. “Thank you, Sandor,” she said quickly.

He grunted and finished the last of the wine. 

It was after 9pm when they decided that there was nothing else to do but go on to bed. 

Sandor rummaged through a hall closet, finding some extra toiletries. 

“All kinds of things in there, just take what you need,” he informed her. 

Sansa found the spacious closet well stocked with anything a person might need. She gathered things for the evening, as well as items she would need for a shower in the morning. 

Sandor walked her to the bedroom and paused, hesitating. 

“Well, good night,” Sansa told him. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“If you need anything, I’m just next door,” Sandor responded. 

Sansa nodded and slipped into the bedroom. 

After making use of the attached bathroom, Sansa crawled into the freshly made bed and turned off her lamp. 

Sleep eluded her. She stared at the unfamiliar walls, watching as shadows played from outside the window. 

Sansa checked the time on her phone and noticed the battery was low. Thank goodness she’d thought to grab her charger. 

As she rummaged through her purse, a low thump sounded below stairs. 

Sansa paused, her heart hammering like a jackrabbit’s. 

She listened and heard nothing else, so she carefully paced around the room until she found an outlet to plug in her phone. 

She was just about to crawl back into bed when she heard the thump again. 

Damn, she thought. 

Quietly as a mouse, Sansa opened her bedroom door and crept to Sandor’s bedroom. She rapped gently on the door. 

“Sandor?”

He didn’t answer. 

Deciding this was an emergency, Sansa opened the door without invitation and peered in. 

“Sandor?” She whispered again. 

He wasn’t in there. 

Sansa clenched her fists and fought the urge to run back into her bedroom. 

Tiptoeing downstairs, Sansa kept all her senses on alert. She heard the thumping coming from an area off the den. She paused to listen. 

The unmistakable sound of punching. And male grunting. 

Sansa grabbed the poker from beside the fireplace and hurried to the source of the sound. 

She burst into the room, poker raised high. 

Sandor stood in the middle of some sort of home gym room, beside a punching bag hanging from the ceiling. He was bare chested, clad only in a pair of boxer briefs. 

Sansa took one look at his body, every muscle glistening with sweat, and lowered the poker weakly. 

“Was that you...making that noise?” She was trying not to stare. It was a huge effort to look away. 

Sandor stared back at her. 

Sansa realized that she was wearing her T-shirt and underwear, and nothing else. She swallowed in sudden embarrassment. 

“I heard a noise, and...”

“You thought you’d save us both with the poker? Very resourceful of you.” Sandor appeared to be fighting back a grin. 

“Very funny,” Sansa grumbled. “You could have told me you were coming down here to punch and make noises that sounded like an attack. I didn’t find you in your bedroom, what was I supposed to think?”

Sandor nodded. “Fair enough. Sorry to give you a fright.”

Sansa sighed. “I’ll never be able to sleep now.”

Sandor grabbed a towel. “Let’s watch a movie, then. I couldn’t sleep either. Maybe that will help.”

“What did you have in mind? Rocky? Rambo?” Sansa asked sarcastically, following Sandor to the den. 

“Actually, I was thinking I’d let you pick, Miss Stark,” Sandor answered, opening a cabinet filled with movies.

Sansa stood and looked for a moment, then she pulled a movie out and handed it to Sandor. 

“The Bodyguard?”

“Yes,” Sansa smirked, flouncing over to the sofa, eager to cover herself with a blanket. 

Sandor sighed and started the film. 

Sansa snuggled under the throw as she watched Rachel and Frank begin their forbidden love affair. 

Feeling slightly embarrassed, she glanced at Sandor, hoping she wasn’t crossing any boundaries. She didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, she’d only been teasing. 

She needn’t have worried. Sandor was already fast asleep. His head had fallen back on the couch, and his chest rose and fell with each breath he took. 

For a long, stolen moment, Sansa watched him. He was magnificent. Built like a god, strong and clever, a bit grumpy, but it only added to his appeal somehow. 

Sansa knew it was a mistake, but she couldn’t help herself. She didn’t know she she’d get another opportunity again...

She inched closer to Sandor until she was right beside him. Carefully, she adjusted the throw until it covered both of them, somewhat. Then she nestled herself under his arm. 

Holding her breath, Sansa went still and waited. For him to wake up, to tell her to back off, to hop up and leave the room. 

None of that happened. He continued to sleep soundly. 

With a sigh of contentment, Sansa nestled even closer and drifted off into a very pleasant slumber


	13. Chapter 13

Sandor came awake slowly. A curious warmth spread along his left side, keeping him quite content to stay where he was, eyes closed. He dozed a bit longer, feeling the warmth burrow closer. Instinctively, his arm came around the source of warmth and comfort, drawing it into him. 

Drowsing, he allowed it to wrap itself onto him just a bit, arms twining around his torso. His hands brushed soft curves, and a sweet sigh breathed into his ear. 

He cupped the soft mound that had elicited such a pleasant sensation, and was rewarded with another sweet sound, breathy, sending his senses into tingling awareness. A pulling heat tugged at his groin, and suddenly the warmth covered him completely. 

He opened bleary eyes to find himself straddled by Sansa, her hair mussed and face gentled by sleep. She looked like a wanton goddess, come to tempt him into deeds not meant for him. 

Sandor shifted a bit, meaning to scoot back, but that was another mistake. There was nowhere to go, trapped on the sofa as he was, and it caused the sweetest friction between himself and Sansa. He stifled a groan of pleasure, watching as her eyes grew wide, then fluttered shut. 

Sandor tried to speak but was at a loss for words, trying to figure out the best way to maneuver without dumping Sansa off his lap. 

She shifted again, just slightly, mimicking his move from earlier. 

Sandor grit his teeth, the throbbing between his thighs surging, making him painfully hard. 

Sansa sighed, and opened her eyes. Sandor watched as her pupils grew larger, lids heavy. Her lips parted and her breath ghosted his neck. 

“ _Buggering hell_ ,” Sandor thought. 

Her lips touched his neck and he stood abruptly, Sansa still half wrapped around him. Sandor gently disentangled her from him and lowered her carefully to the ground. 

Sansa stood before him, a defiant and hurt look on her face. Clad only in her T-shirt from yesterday, she all but pouted at him, with her big blue eyes and rosy lips. Shapely legs peeked from the hem of her shirt, and he could clearly see the outline of her breasts, and her nipples....

Sandor steeled himself.

“I need a shower,” he said abruptly. A cold shower, he thought, colder than the bloody Wall up north. “I’ll make us some breakfast, afterwards, if you’d like?”

Sansa nodded, eyes downcast. 

Sandor turned and left the room quickly. 

He stood in the shower, letting the water wash over him, furious with himself. 

What the fuck had he been thinking? 

It didn’t matter that she’d fit against him so perfectly, as if every part of her had been made to mold to him. 

She did _not_ belong to him. He had no right to touch her, and he was the greatest fucking fool to have let it go so far. He had been unfathomably stupid to touch her. 

Sandor leaned his head into the water, scrubbing until he had regained some composure. 

Looking down at the stubborn appendage between his legs, he scowled. 

“That’s not for you,” he grumbled. 

He was surely going mad, talking to his dick. 

A bit later, Sandor was in the kitchen preparingpancakes when Sansa came in. 

She wore a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt that he had lay discreetly on her bed while she showered in her bathroom. Her hair was damp, cheeks rosy from the shower. 

“Hi,” she said tentatively, slowly coming toward the kitchen island, but no closer. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Sandor couldn’t bear the nervous tone to her voice. She smiled bravely, but could barely meet his eyes. 

“There should be pancake syrup and maybe some canned fruit in the pantry, if you’d like to get that,” he answered calmly, keeping his attention firmly on flipping the pancakes in front of him. 

Sansa disappeared into the pantry and returned with syrup and canned pears. She rummaged through the drawers until she located a can opener. 

Sandor let her help him finish preparing their meal. Then they took their plates and bottles of water into the dining room to eat. 

They ate in silence. Sansa seemed to be in no hurry to fill the quiet, focused on her food, taking one mechanical bite after another. 

Sandor ate quickly and efficiently as always. He cleared his throat and for once, decided to be the first to speak up. 

“I was thinking,” he began. 

Sansa met his eyes, and waited. 

“Since we’re going to be here for an indeterminable time, maybe I could teach you a few things. Self defense things,” he added quickly. “It might make us both feel better if you weren’t feeling completely helpless.”

Sansa nodded. “That’s probably not a bad idea,” she agreed. “Arya has tried to teach me some boxing, but she’s decided I’m hopeless,” Sansa smiled a private half-smile. “She says I’m too afraid of getting my face hit.”

Sandor smiled. “I promise you, your face will not be hit during our training.”

After cleaning up their breakfast, Sandor led her into the gym room. They stood in front of the punching bag in the center of the room. 

“All right,” Sandor crossed his arms and nodded at the bag. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Sansa looked at him a moment. “Just punch it?” 

Sandor nodded. 

“Like, with my bare hands?”

Sandor nodded again. 

“Okay...” Sansa regarded the bag a moment then balled up a fist. She popped the bag lightly. 

“A bit more forceful,” Sandor told her. 

Sansa reared her arm back and swung forcefully at the bag, connecting with a solid thump. 

“Oh!” She doubled over, clutching her fist. “Gods, that hurts!”

Sandor fought back a laugh.“You’ve got a mean right hook, there Miss Stark. You just need the right technique.” 

Sandor gently took Sansa by the shoulders, helping her take a few paces back from the bag. 

“First things first. It’s unlikely that your opponent is going to stand still in front you and allow you to punch them straight on. So you need to remove yourself from punching distance.”

Sansa stood just an arm’s length distance from the bag. 

“Next, you’ll step into the punch. The distance will help you do that anyway. You can step into the punch, then back if needed.”

Sansa nodded. 

“Okay, now,” Sandor circled her, carefully taking her arms and lifting them. “You’ll only throw out a few punches to get an idea of where your target is going to be. The idea is to get in a few punches inside your target’s range. This throws them off while you line up your actual hit.”

Sansa looked perplexed, but gave a few halfhearted punches toward the center of the bag. Then she swung her fist to the left and connected with the bag. 

“That’s the right idea,” Sandor told her. “Let’s try again.”

They took turns, Sandor giving an example, Sansa following his lead. She was hestitant at first, but as the morning went on, her punches were more decisive, her movements quicker. 

“I think that’s enough for now,” Sandor told her. “We don’t want you so sore that you can’t carry on.”

Sansa nodded, pushing her hair back from her flushed face. 

“I’ll clean up, then I’ll make lunch.” She told him. 

Sandor nodded as she scampered off to the bathroom. 

He took another shower, just to pass the time.

After they were both showered and dressed in their respective loungewear, Sandor watched Sansa make tuna melts. 

“I didn’t even ask if you liked tuna,” she said. “But I found some bread in the freezer.”

“Sounds fine,” he answered. “I’m not picky.”

After lunch, Sansa called her parents, who were still worried but obviously quite relieved to hear from her. Nothing had changed, people were still coming around looking for her and Sandor. 

“I’ve a bad feeling about it,” Catelyn told Sansa. “We might take a trip, your siblings and myself. Just until all this dies down.”

Sansa seemed unsettled after the conversation with her parents. Sandor decided to try and distract her by showing her around the house in the daytime, when the shadows and sounds might not spook her as much. 

Sansa didn’t question the large empty rooms. They had belonged to his parents and brother at one time, and he didn’t particularly feel like discussing it. 

“This is the armory,” Sandor led Sansa to a door with a padlock and coded entry. “The code is 4428. You might need to access it, worst case scenario. It’s stocked with enough dry goods and water in there to last a few days, if you’re careful. You can access emergency services in there, even if the phone lines are down, or the power goes out.”

“So it’s like a panic room.” Sansa peered in. 

Sandor thought a moment. 

“I suppose so,” he answered. 

“I hope I never have to use it,” Sansa took his hand and gave him a look of such a look of resolution, it gave him a chill. “We stay together, Sandor. No matter what.”

He knew better than to argue. Sansa hadn’t known real danger until recently. How could Sandor explain how unpredictable peril was?

  
Sandor knew that the kind of promise Sansa wanted was easily made, but not easily kept. 

He wouldn’t lie to her. 

Instead he squeezed her hand and drew away. 

“Have you ever played spades?”

Several hours later, Sandor and Sansa were both laughing, as Sansa lost horribly at a game of Quarters. 

Somehow their card game had turned into poker, which had led to Sandor finding the shot glasses and teaching the Little Bird, a college student, how to play her first game of Quarters.

“It’s simple,” Sandor told her for what had to be the tenth time. “Flip the quarter, bounce it off the table, and....” the coin bounced neatly into the shot glass. 

Sansa laughed. “You make it _look_ simple. If we were playing for real, I’d have thrown in the towel long ago.”

“I think I left a bottle of tequila in the pantry,” Sandor flipped another quarter into the shot glass. 

“All right, then get it. We play one game. One. It’s not even five o’clock yet,” Sansa said sternly, trying not to smile.

Sandor got the tequila and poured the shots. 

“Ready?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued!


	14. Chapter 14

Sansa gripped Sandor’s right hand lightly with her left hand.

“Now you put this hand,” she guided his left hand down, “on my waist.”

After a moment of hesitation, Sandor complied, resting his hand on her waist. 

“A tiny bit more pressure, if you don’t mind. Unless you’d like me to lead.”

Sandor made a sort of growling sound, but his hand increased its pressure upon her waist, ever so slightly. 

“My right hand goes on your waist,” Sansa ignored the excited flutter her heart gave when she made contract with the unyielding warmth of him under her palm. 

“Now, just a basic box step, to start with. Everything you do, I mimic. I’ll just go the opposite way.” Sansa said briskly, trying not to appear flustered. 

Sandor actually cocked his head in confusion as he furrowed his brow. “You’ll...what?”

Sansa tried not to laugh. “You’ll see.”

She lifted their arms. “All right. Forward left, step right, then close left foot to right foot.”

Sandor followed her instructions, a bit clumsily, but correctly. 

“Perfect!” Sansa beamed at him. “Now, step back with your right foot, step left, then close right foot to left foot.”

Sandor did so, as Sansa followed along. 

“Now we put it together. The lead always starts forward. So you’ll step forward, and I’ll step backward.”

Slowly, they moved in time. 

“Forward left, step right, close left foot to right foot. Now, backward right, step left, close right foot to left foot. Good! Again! Forward left...”

Sandor turned out to be a quick study. Soon they were waltzing all over the den. 

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” he grumbled, staring at his feet. 

“I can’t believe how quickly you caught on,” Sansa exclaimed, charmed by his intense concentration and surprisingly natural grace. “It took me hours just to learn the box step.”

Sandor scoffed. “ Somehow, I doubt that. You actually glide when you walk, for fuck’s sake.”

Sansa blinked at the backhanded compliment, but continued on before Sandor clammed up, as he so often did. 

“You must just be a naturally physical person. I mean, you’re a soldier, a boxer, a body guard...I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that dancing came naturally to you.”

Sandor misstepped, and his left foot came down on her right toe.

“Ow,” Sansa told him, though she smiled up at him. “And here I was, beginning to think you were perfect. I was becoming very intimidated.”

Sandor dropped her hand. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

Sansa tried to hide her disappointment. “Oh. I’m sorry. You don’t have to waltz with me, I just thought....well, you taught me to punch. I just wanted to teach you something.”

Sandor frowned. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I just don’t want to hurt you. I might crush your feet with mine.”

Sansa brightened. “We need music. That’ll keep us in time.” 

She grabbed her phone off the sofa and scrolled until she found something they could waltz to. 

As the music began, Sandor and Sansa took their places once again. 

“Forward left, step right....”

Sandor led her stiffly around the room for a while, as Sansa simply enjoyed his closeness. He had a clean, masculine smell to him. He was always so warm, and even though she could tell he was reigning in his strength, it was apparent in every movement. The man fairly radiated virility. 

“What is this music?” Sandor asked her suddenly. “It sounds very familiar.”

“Tales From the Vienna Woods, by Johann Strauss,” Sansa replied. “It’s pretty popular. There’s a good chance you’ve heard it before.”

“Likely on a Bugs Bunny cartoon, or something,” Sandor answered. “I’ve not much occasion to waltz.”

Sandor burst into laughter. “A Bugs Bunny cartoon?”

Sandor smiled at her. “Aye. Bugs Bunny was very popular in Scotland. And I’m sure that’s where I heard this. Right before he clubbed his enemy over the head and hid him in the rabbit hole. Or was it the tree?”

Sansa was breathless with laughter. “I honestly have no idea...this was a _children’s_ cartoon?! A rabbit hit people over the head?”

Sandor stared at her. “You’ve never heard of Bugs Bunny? Daffy Duck? Elmer Fudd?”

“Of course I’ve _heard_ of them, I’ve just never actually seen any of the cartoons.”

“You’re full of shite.”

“No! I think I’d remember something like that.”

“We have to remedy that. I’m making frozen pizza, then we’re going to have a proper drink and watch Looney Tunes.”

“That sounds like a very respectable and adult way to spend our evening,” Sansa laughed. 

“Oh, it will be _very_ educational, Miss Stark. Give me just twenty minutes.”

Soon enough, Sansa and Sandor were seated in front of the television in the den, plates of frozen pizza balanced on their laps. Sandor had brought water and also the strongest gin and tonic Sansa had ever tasted. 

“Is this your idea of a proper drink? You weren’t joking,” Sansa grimaced as she took a hearty swig. 

“I never joke about making a proper drink,” Sandor informed her, taking a bite of pizza. “There was whiskey, but I didn’t think you’d be wanting that. Probably for the same reason I don’t.”

Sansa flashed back to Joffrey’s groping in the backseat and briefly felt that oily feeling of dread curdle in the pit of her stomach. She flashed Sandor a grateful look. 

Sandor gave her a look of understanding and turned to the television. 

“Here we go,” he said, as the opening music played. 

Half an hour later, Sansa was more than a little drunk, and lounging on her side, peering up and grinning at Sandor’s analogy of the coyote and the roadrunner. 

“When I was younger, I used to think that bird was a right shit. I thought, poor coyote, he just wants to catch the damn bird. Now that I’m older, I realize the bird is smarter than the damn coyote and he’s fucking with him. Every time the coyote is being clever and smug, thinking he’s outsmarted the bird for sure, the bird turns around and beats him at his own game. It’s fantastic.”

Sansa turned her head to watch as the coyote ran smack into the fake tunnel he’d painted on the side of a cliff.

“You’re right,” she said, finishing her drink. “I do feel sorry for the coyote though. Just a bit.”

“Don’t”, Sandor told her. “He doesn’t deserve your pity. Or that bird.”

It slowly dawned on Sansa that they were talking about something else at this point. She felt a bit out of her element. Surprised, but not unpleasantly so.

Sandor thought she was too good for Joffrey. 

It came on her like a flash, and filled her briefly with pure joy. 

Sansa, overwhelmed with the intensity of the sudden feeling, raised up and took their plates. 

“I’ll wash up quickly, and make us another drink,” she told Sandor, darting the kitchen before he could answer. 

She quickly got rid of the leftover pizza crumbs and washed the plates and pan. She found the gin on the counter and poured them both another drink. Probably stronger than she’d normally make, but who cared. 

Taking a deep breath, Sansa padded back into the living room. 

Sandor was leaning back against the foot of the sofa, one arm propped up behind his head. His shirt had rode up, and his abs peeked out, looking as if they’d been chiseled from stone, lightly dusted with dark hair. Like some sort of god, Sansa thought dreamily. 

Sandor was smirking at the television, blithely unaware that his charge was getting all hot and bothered over the sight of him.

_“Oh, gods,”_ Sansa thought. She quickly crossed back over to her spot and handed Sandor his drink as she sat. 

Sandor took a sip. “You forgot the ice,” he told her, without taking his eyes off the television. 

Sansa rolled her eyes. _From god to caveman,_ she thought _._

“I do beg your pardon, Mr. Clegane,” she told him in a haughty tone. 

Sandor turned to look at her, amusement lighting his eyes. “I was only teasing. It’ll do, Miss Stark.”

“ _Damn_ ,” Sansa thought, as she all but melted again. She couldn’t help but smile in return.

They finished their drinks, and Sandor sighed. 

“Bed?” He asked. 

“Uh...” Sansa stammered. _He’s not asking you to go to bed with_ him _, fool!_ She chastised herself. 

“It’s a bit early,” she said. “Isn’t it?”

Sandor checked his phone. “It’s 10:30....maybe a bit. Thought you’d be tired, but....”

Sandor stood, checking the movies in the cabinet. He selected one, checked the back and held it up for Sansa’s approval. 

“What do you think?”

Sansa looked at him in surprise. “Titanic? You _want_ to watch that?”

Sandor snorted. “It’s long and looks boring. It’ll put us right to sleep.”

Sandor made them both another drink and they turned on the movie. 

Sansa was so engrossed in the movie that she didn’t realize that she was leaning on Sandor about the time that Rose was running away on the ship, after she realized she couldn’t marry her terrible fiancé.

She slid a covert glance Sandor’s way, but he barely seemed to notice her. He was also completely engrossed in the film. 

As Jack swooped in to talk Rose out of throwing herself off the ship, Sansa polished off her drink. She rose to set it on the table beside her. As she attempted to settle back down onto her spot, she lost her balance, crashing into Sandor. 

He caught her deftly, his hands on her waist. Sansa was pressed flush against him. Her arms thrown over his shoulders. 

For a long moment, neither of them moved, just stared at one another in shock. 

Slowly Sandor sat up. Sansa went with him, and slid onto his lap. 

“Was that to get me back for stepping on your foot earlier?” Sandor smiled at her. 

Sansa blinked. Then she giggled. “No.”

They continued to stare at one another, smiling like fools. 

Sansa realized that she had to do something before she lost her nerve.

It was as if she couldn’t help herself. 

Slowly, she leaned in, and kissed Sandor. 

Their lips met hesitantly. Sandor didn’t pull away, but he didn’t kiss her back either. 

Sansa had never initiated a kiss like this before, and especially not with a man like Sandor. Her brief, unsatisfactory experiences, with one or two random dates, and most recently, Joffrey, had given her very little idea of what kissing could be like. 

She gave Sandor a gentle press of the lips, kissing his lower, then upper lip. 

He continued to be completely still, as if he’d turned to stone. 

Disappointed, Sansa drew away. She gave him a lingering kiss on the corner of the mouth before they completely parted. 

Sansa had been all set to get up and slink away to her bedroom, until Sandor put his arms around her. 

“Fuck,” he muttered. Then his lips crashed into hers.

Sansa was caught off guard and let him kiss her, his mouth practically devouring hers. His lips parted hers and his tongue slipped in. Instead of of slimy and disgusting, it felt hot, and strong, and good. So, so good. 

Sansa kissed him back, their mouths mating in a way that made her never want to stop kissing him. She clung to him, her body moving of its own accord. She began to move in his lap, a rhythm as old as time, and his hips lifted to meet hers. 

Oh, _gods_ , that felt good....

She began to grind shamelessly against him, whimpering with a need she didn’t quite understand. He moaned in her mouth and her hands slid under his shirt. She wanted to feel him....

His muscles shifted under her touch, and he took one hand off of her to reach down and yank off his shirt. Sansa lifted hers as well, and tugged it off clumsily, their lips only parting to remove the clothing. 

Sandor ran his hot, calloused hands up her torso and around to her back. He pressed her closer to him.  


It felt _amazing_ , skin on skin. 

Slowly, Sansa reached back and unhooked her bra, letting the garment fall. 

Sandor leaned back slightly, looking at her. 

“ _Gods_ ,” he groaned, after getting an eyeful, his eyes fluttering shut. “Sansa, we can’t.”

Sansa wasn’t about to let him pull away. Not now. 

“You’re supposed to take care of me, Sandor,” she whispered against his mouth. Her breasts pressed against his hair-roughened chest and she shivered with sensations that started in her nipples and shot directly to the apex of her thighs. 

“I know,” he moaned as she kissed him, tugging his lower lip gently between her teeth. “Fuck, Sansa, don’t...”

“Do you not want to?” Sansa half hid herself in the crook of his neck, thinking she’d die of shame if he told her no, he didn’t want her.

Sandor laughed roughly, arching his hips up, his arousal hard and huge between her thighs. 

“Do I _want_ to? Is that a serious question? I _do_ fucking want to. Badly. But we can’t. You _know_ we can’t.”

Sansa leaned back to look at him.

“I’m not going to marry Joffrey.” She told him. 

Sandor blinked then laughed at her. He pushed her off his lap. 

“I mean that,” Sansa stared up at him, hurt. “I realized it the moment you started talking about that stupid bird and coyote. I _can’t_ marry Joffrey. I won’t.”

Sansa knew she must sound half mad, but she was desperate for Sandor to understand. 

Sandor stared down at her, shaking his head. 

“Even if you don’t marry Joffrey, and that’s a pretty big ‘if’, I still can’t.” Sandor found her shirt and dropped it at her feet. 

Sansa stared at it, and picked it up mechanically, putting it on. 

“I’m sorry, Sansa.”

Sandor hurried from the room, pausing at the doorway.

“Good night,” he told her without turning around. 

Then he was gone.


	15. Chapter 15

Sansa twisted in the bed, staring at the time on her phone. 

1:39 AM

She sighed and pushed it back onto the nightstand. 

Resigning herself to the fact that she couldn’t sleep, she decided to get some water. 

She crept into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle from the fridge, drinking thirstily. Once she finished, she tossed her bottle in the trash and turned to head back toward bed. 

Sandor stood in the doorway. 

Sansa nearly gasped in surprise, but smothered the urge just in time. 

“I was just getting some water,” she told him. 

He didn’t move, so neither could she.

“Um...you okay?” She asked carefully. 

Sandor finally blinked and moved to the side. 

“Sorry, yeah, fine. I came to get some water too.”

Sansa slid past him and began to the lonely route to her bedroom. All by herself. For the rest of the night.

She paused in the hallway, biting her lip in frustration. It was better than screaming. Or kicking something.

“Sansa?”

She turned to see Sandor walking slowly up behind her.

“You okay?” He asked her this time.

Sansa sighed. Might as well be honest at this point. 

“Not really. I can’t sleep.” 

“I couldn’t sleep, either,” admitted Sandor. “I was a wanker this evening. You deserve an apology. I crossed the line.”

“Don’t,” Sansa told him. “Don’t you dare apologize.”

Sandor stopped his little speech, looking perplexed.

“I don’t want your apology, because I’m not sorry for what happened tonight. Not even close to being sorry.”

“But you would have been,” Sandor told her gently.

“Not likely,” Sansa said, heart aching. “I doubt I’d be sorry for giving myself to someone who actually respects and likes me. Someone that I actually respect and like. I very, seriously doubt that I’d regret that. I’m going to try to get some sleep now.” 

Sansa turned and headed towards her bedroom, feeling the tears begin. She wanted to get behind a closed door before he

“Wait,” Sandor spoke. 

Sansa stopped in her tracks, her back turned to him, shoulders bunched up in defense.

Sandor crossed the distance between them and turned her around. 

Tears glittered in her eyes as she looked at him, half defiant, half hopeful. 

“I’m not sorry, either,” he told her. “Not really. I know you deserve an apology, but I wouldn’t mean it.”

She laughed a bit at that. 

Sandor sighed and closed his eyes briefly. 

“Do you want to sleep with me tonight? _Just_ sleeping,” he emphasized. 

“Do you _want_ me to?” Sansa asked him, sounding doubtful. 

Sandor knew that it would be near torture, lying next to this gorgeous creature, but not touching her. However, he also knew that he couldn’t bear to turn her away again. 

“I think we’ll both sleep better if you do,” he answered honestly. 

Sandor led her into his bedroom, where a giant king bed sat right in the middle of the room. 

He perched on the edge. 

“Make yourself comfortable,” her told her. 

Since it was obvious that he was waiting for her to settle in first, Sansa crawled onto the left side of the bed. She pulled the covers up to her chin and snuggled in. 

While Sandor settled himself on the other side, Sansa breathed in the scent of him in the linens. She couldn’t get enough. It was like a drug, the scent of him. 

“You okay?” Sandor asked her. 

Sansa realized Sandor must be wondering why she was sniffing the sheets like a lunatic. 

“I’m fine,” she answered quickly. 

Sandor rolled over to the edge of his side of the bed. 

“Good night,” he told her.

“‘Night,” she murmured. 

They must have both finally slept, because when Sandor woke, it was to sunlight pouring in the room through the window that faced the bed. His phone was buzzing. And a beautiful redhead was curled against him like he was a fucking teddy bear. 

Sandor carefully disentangled himself from Sansa, then rose from the bed to shut the curtains. Then he grabbed his phone and hurried into the bathroom. 

“Clegane.”

“About fucking time you answered, dog. What’s this I hear about someone shooting at Sansa?”

Sandor sighed. The last thing he wanted to do this morning was speak to Joffrey. 

But the little prick was the one who signed his hefty paychecks. 

Sandor gave him a quick rundown of what had happened. 

“You got her out of there. Excellent.” Joffrey sounded like that he thought was anything _but_ excellent. 

“Where are you all now?” Joffrey continued lightly, as if they were making lunch plans.

Some instinct told Sandor to lie. He didn’t want to give away his hideout, but also, something seemed a bit off. 

“We’re at her family’s house,” Sandor told him. “I’ve been staying here to watch over her.” 

“Good, good,” Joffrey replied distantly. “Keep me updated, will you? I can’t believe you didn’t call to tell me. Why didn’t you?” 

Sandor honestly couldn’t answer that. Likely it was because he hated Joffrey and refused to initiate contact with him.  


But of course he couldn’t tell him that. 

“It’s been a bit hectic, sir. Lots of loose ends and questions. I’ve been extremely cautious throughout this whole process. My apologies for not letting you know sooner.”

“Don’t let it happen again,” Joffrey told him without any real ire. Then he hung up. 

Sandor sighed as he tossed his phone onto the counter. 

He had to piss. Then he decided to brush his teeth and wash his face, ruined as it was. He also ran a comb through his hair quickly. 

“No sense in me scaring her even more, first thing in the morning,” he rationalized his behavior.

Sandor peered out of the bathroom. Sansa was still curled in the bed, asleep. 

Next he called Ned Stark.

“Ned? Clegane. Yes, she’s sleeping, I, uh, just checked on her.....yes, I know about as much as I did yesterday.....right. Thing is, Joffrey called me and I told him we’d been staying at your house.....right, I felt it was best to keep things under wraps for the time being. Are your wife and children in the home? No....okay, good. I think it might be best if you left for a while as well. Just a few days, for now....it’s just a hunch I have. I hope I’m wrong, but just in case....yes, absolutely, I will have Sansa call you the moment she wakes up....all right. ‘Bye.”

Sandor walked back into the bedroom. Sansa wasn’t there. 

He padded to her room, and knocked lightly. 

“Sansa?”

The sound of running water came from the bathroom. 

“Just a minute,” she called.

Sandor waited until she came and opened the door, a bit breathlessly. 

“My mouth had the most awful taste. I had to brush my teeth,” she told him. 

He noticed that she too had washed her face and brushed her hair, but he hid his smile. 

“Your father wants you call him,” Sandor said. 

“I left my phone in your room,” Sansa replied. She hurried back to his room, where she crawled on the bed and dialed her father. 

“Hi, dad....yes, everything is fine....yes, I was going to call you the second I woke up. How are you.....oh? Where are you going....? Oh, I see....all right, safe travels....yes, I’ll call mother tonight....yes. I love you....’Bye.”

Sansa pressed end on the call and stared thoughtfully into space. 

Sandor hated to bring up Joffrey, he truly did. 

“Joffrey called earlier, too.” 

Sansa’s head whipped toward him, her face paling. “He did?”

“Aye”, Sandor leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “Seems it was the first he’d heard of the shooting.”

Sansa stared at her lap for a moment. Then she looked up. 

“What else?”

“I told him we’d been staying with your parents.”

“You did?”

“Aye.”

Sansa pressed her lips together. 

“I need to call Margery,” she finally said.

“That would be a mistake.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Sandor pushed himself off the wall. “Someone is after you. Perhaps they’re after her too.”

“ _Perhaps_ I’m taking myself out of the equation. I give her my blessing to be with Joffrey, I take away one potential reason for someone wanting me dead.”

“Another mistake,” Sandor shook his head. 

“I can’t just leave her out there to die!”

“It’s the only way we’ll figure out who’s behind this.”

Sansa stared at Sandor.

“Why did you lie about where we’d been staying?” 

“It seemed like the right thing to do.”

“My father said he was taking a business trip. Seems like an odd time to go, with my family away. The whole house will be empty. Did he tell you about that?”

“I advised it.”

Sansa shook her head, then buried her face in her hands. 

“Do you think Joffrey is behind this?” Sansa asked him quietly. 

Sandor looked at her a long moment. Then he came to sit down beside her. 

“I don’t know. I just need to eliminate some suspects. Anyone close to Joffrey right now is going to think you’re staying at home. If something happens, we’ll know. If not...” Sandor shrugged. 

Sansa nodded, her face troubled. 

“You work for Joffrey, not me,” she told him in a small voice. “What if something happens at my house, then he calls you away?”

“Then I’ll definitely know something is up.”

Sansa nodded. 

Sandor reached out and cupped her cheek in his hand. 

“I’ll not betray you, little bird. I’ll find a way to keep you safe.”

Sansa covered his hand with hers and sighed. 

“I hope it’s not Joffrey,” she said finally. “Because I want to stay here with you.”

An hour later, Sandor was cooking instant oatmeal while Sansa stared out the window. 

“I want to stay here with you,” Sansa’s voice echoed in his head, over and over. 

Wouldn’t he love to keep her here with him, just the two of them, safely stowed away in his small fortress?

Sandor knew that wasn’t realistic. He didn’t want to keep his little bird caged, in fear of her life, worried about her family. She needed to be free, to spread her wings. 

Yet another reason that Joffrey couldn’t have her. _Shouldn’t_ have her. He’d break Sansa’s spirit, create a beautiful shell of a girl. Sandor could be there to watch over her, true. But if Joffrey terminated his employment, he’d not be able to protect her. He wouldn’t even get to see her, she’d be hidden away, with only the devious Lannisters to keep her company. 

The very thought of it made him feel hollow. 

Sandor brought the two bowls of oatmeal to the table. 

“Thank you,” Sansa told him. She began to eat mechanically, her eyes still far away. 

Sandor ate too, deep in thought.  


He had a plan. It was mad, dangerous, and likely a terrible idea. But it wouldn’t go away. 

“Did you mean what you said, about not wanting to marry Joffrey?” He asked her. 

Sansa blinked at him. “Yes,” she answered. 

“Be truthful, Sansa. Think long and hard about it.”

Sansa pondered a moment. “I don’t love him,” she said slowly. “I don’t think I ever could. He’s...I think something might be very wrong with him. I think my life with him would be too great of a challenge. My mother was so adamant that I please him, and marry into that family, I think I got caught up in her enthusiasm. She only saw the charming side of him, she doesn’t seem to realize how....” Sansa paused. “It’s ironic that he is the one giving me a source of protection right now.” She smiled at Sandor. “Considering that I’ve never felt safe with him.”

Sandor nodded. 

“Why did you ask me that?” Sansa looked concerned. 

“Because, I have an idea. It’ll only work though, if you are really and truly finished with Joffrey.”

“Oh,” Sansa said. She was quiet a moment. “I really and truly am. I don’t want to lose you, Sandor. But I can’t marry Joffrey.”

“You won’t have to lose my protection,” Sandor told her. 

A tiny crease formed between Sansa’s brows. 

“I don’t understand,” she said slowly. “You work for Joffrey...I guess I could ask my father to hire you, but that might not be something you’re interested in. Or is it?” She looked at him hopefully.

Sandor shook his head. “I have a better idea. Well, maybe it’s better. It could be terrible.”

Sandor paused, drawing up his courage. 

“I think we should get married.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Just a quick little foreword, this is going to be a smutty chapter, which includes the loss of virginity. Not to give anything away too soon, I just wanted to prepare anyone who might need a trigger warning for this sort of thing. I’m going to add this in the story’s tags as well. 
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who’s taken the time to read this story! Your comments and kudos have been very encouraging! I am so appreciative, I can’t even explain how much this means to me. 
> 
> Okay, as promised, SanSan (slightly fluffy) smut!

  
Sansa dropped a spoonful of oatmeal back into the bowl.

“I’m sorry....did you say you want to _marry_ me?”

Sandor gave her a level look.

“Aye.”

“You do realize how insane that sounds, don’t you?”

“Not really, no. I think it sounds like a rational solution to your problem.”

“A rational solution...? Sandor, you don’t want to marry me. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to.”

Sansa let out an incredulous puff of laughter. 

“You’re mad.”

“Hardly.”

“We barely know each other.”

“I know you well enough. And I think you know what kind of man I am. I’ve not hidden anything from you. What you see is what you get.”

“Do you love me?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Quite a bit, actually!”

“Do you love Joffrey?”

Sansa scoffed. “You know the answer to that.”

“Yet you were willing to marry him just a few days ago. No, don’t deny it, that was the end game for you. Marriage to Joffrey.”

“That’s....”

“That’s different? Is that what you were going to say?”

“Yes! It was, actually. Things have changed.”

“Right. Tell me, how is that different? What’s changed?”

“Sandor, I do prefer you over Joffrey, as you very well know. That doesn’t mean you need to marry me. You said yourself that you don’t love me. I don’t want to marry a man that doesn’t love me. Which I realize now, before you throw Joffrey in my face again.”

“I never said I didn’t love you.”

Sansa stared at him. “You...are you saying you _love_ me?”

“I just said I didn’t see how that was relevant to our situation, is all.”

“It’s pretty relevant to marriage. Crucial, actually.”

“Do _you_ love _me_?” Sandor challenged her, with a raised brow.

“For the love of the Seven....how can I possibly answer that?”

“I think you feel the same way I do and you’re scared to admit it. You’re afraid that this would be a good match, and you know I’d take care of you. In every way.”

Sansa ignored the shiver that ran through her at that. 

“Sandor...desire isn’t a reason to get married either.”

“No, it’s not. But it helps.”

Sansa shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re trying to talk me into this.”

“I hope it’s working. Because this is becoming very tiring. Do you want to, or not?”

Sansa stared at him. She couldn’t speak for what seemed like ages.

“I don’t _not_ want to,” she finally managed. 

“So, that’s a yes? Or no?”

Sansa raked a hand through her hair in exasperation. 

“This is so sudden, Sandor! I don’t know....I don’t know. What does it mean for you? Will you lose your job? Of course you would, and Joffrey might be quite vindictive about it. What if he ruins your chance at ever finding a job anywhere in Westeros ever again? Will Joffrey make us both regret it? What will my family think....? What will _your_ family think?! I don’t even know your family.”

“I’m not worried about Joffrey. Your family will come around, because they love you. As for me, I have no family.”

“But your brother?”

“My brother is as good as dead to me. Everyone else is actually dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Sansa stood and slowly made her way to Sandor. 

He stayed seated, completely still, watching her progression with his eyes only.

“Kiss me,” she told him. 

“All right,” Sandor replied. 

Sansa sat in his lap and waited. 

Sandor cupped the back of her head and pulled her gently toward him.  Tenderly, his lips caressed hers. 

He leaned back and smoke gray eyes met hers. 

“Well?”

“Do you _really_ think we can make this work?”

“Yes.”

Sansa sighed. 

“Fine. I’ll marry you.”

As it turned out, it was surprisingly easy to obtain a marriage in Westeros. All one needed was to be considered of legal age, and an identification card. 

Sansa watched numbly as Sandor paid the marriage license fee. She allowed him to take her hand and lead her into the office of the Septon, who spoke the words that made them husband and wife. 

Halfway through the short ceremony, Sansa burst into tears. 

“Is everything all right, Miss Stark?” The Septon threw Sandor an accusatory glance.

“Yes, everything is fine. It’s just, I’m getting married, you know? It’s a kind of a big deal. Lots of emotions. I’m sorry...please, you can continue.”

The Septon studied her a moment, but finally did continue on. 

He pronounced them husband and wife, and Sandor leaned in to kiss her.  


Sansa felt something slide on her ring finger. 

Startled, she looked down to see a gorgeous antique diamond twinkling back up at her.  


Sansa’s eyes shot up back to Sandor’s in shock.

“How...?”

“It was my mother’s. Family heirloom.” Sandor studied the ring, giving Sansa’s hand a gentle caress. “It fits. I wasn’t sure if it would. We’ll get you another ring, if you want. You can choose. Anything you’d like.”

“Sandor,” Sansa leaned forward on tiptoe and pulled Sandor down to kiss him soundly. 

“It’s perfect,” she told him. 

Sansa and Sandor made it back to the house, where Sandor checked all the cameras, and made sure the house was locked up tight. 

Sansa waited in the den, staring at her ring, and the marriage certificate in her lap. 

“Regrets?”

Sansa looked up to see Sandor framed in thedoorway, watching her.

Sansa shook her head. “No.”

Sandor crossed the threshold and sat down beside her. “Me neither.”

Sansa tried to smile, but she could barely look at him. 

Sandor put a finger under her chin and gently tipped her her face up to look at him. 

Sansa fell toward him, wrapping her arms around his torso.

Sandor held her closely, his hand stroking her back in a soothing way. 

“We’re actually married.” Sansa laughed. “Gods, we’re insane. But I’m glad we did it.”

She felt, rather than heard, a laugh rumble from Sandor’s frame.

She lifted her face to smile at him. 

Sandor watched her, his eyes intense.

Sansa felt another shiver run through her, but not of fear. 

“I hope you are, too,” she climbed up, closer to him. 

He cupped her bottom, hauling her up against him.

”I’m glad,” he said softly. 

Sansa kissed him hungrily. He was _hers_ now. And she was his. 

Sandor stood, taking her with him. He carried her into his bedroom. 

Sansa practically tripped as he lowered her, intent on taking off her clothes. 

Sandor gave a quiet laugh. “Eager little bird.”

Sansa kicked off her sandals and yanked her jeans off. She suppressed a shiver of nerves as she slowly pulled off her T-shirt. 

Sandor watched her, lips slightly parted, eyes heavy. 

Slowly, Sansa unclasped her bra and let it fall. 

Sandor’s chest rose and fell as he drew in a breath, but he didn’t move otherwise. Just watched her with a hungry sort of gaze.

Sansa took a trembling breath in as she removed the last stitch of her clothing, standing before him completely bared.

Sandor stared until she became self conscious. She started to cross her arms across herself.

“No,” Sandor murmured, reaching for her. “You’re perfect....gods, you are _perfect_.”

Sansa actually rolled her eyes. “I’m not.”

“You’re gorgeous, Sansa,” he reiterated, yanking his own shirt off. It was Sansa’s turn to stare as he quickly undressed, revealing 6 feet and 6 inches of perfect, male body.

Sansa felt her mouth drop open as she stared at him. She couldn’t imagine wanting anyone else, ever. Not before, and certainly not after this moment.   
  


“You’re the one who’s perfect,” Sansa breathed. “You don’t even look real. You look like the ancient statues of a god, or something.”

Sandor chuckled.  
  


Sansa stared up at him, waiting. She wasn’t sure what she should do.

Sandor reached for her and she let him kiss her, their bodies pressing up against one another. 

Sandor lowered her onto the bed gently, then joined her. Still raining gentle kisses on her, he began to stroke her all over. 

Sansa felt her need grow, as his hands ran over her, leaving trails that tingled with desire. She moaned as he dropped kisses from her jawline to her neck, then even lower. 

He kissed one breast and took the nipple into his mouth, his tongue rolling across it gently. 

Sansa gasped, clutching him closer to her. She arched against him as he moved to her other breast, leaving her squirming under him.

Sandor moved even further down, parting her legs gently. 

Sansa let out a gasp as she felt his mouth, licking the most intimate part of her. He stroked her with his tongue, and she began to writhe under him. 

“Sandor,” she gasped, as she felt herself begin to unravel. 

Suddenly, a release so great took her over, she cried out. Nothing at that moment mattered but Sandor and herself. She felt as if she were riding wave after wave of pleasure. Clutching Sandor’s shoulders, Sansa could only hold on until it was over. 

Sandor pressed a kiss into the inside of her thigh, and rose back up to face her. 

Sansa could barely speak. She stared at him, bringing her hand up to cup his face. 

Sandor pressed his mouth onto hers, and Sansa could taste herself on him. It was odd, but she found she didn’t mind too much. 

Leaning on his elbows, Sandor positioned himself carefully above her. 

She felt his arousal, huge and insistent, between her thighs. She was equal parts terrified and eager as he slowly reached down to fit himself to her. 

“I’ll go slowly, Sansa. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Sansa knew that the pain was inevitable, but she was unprepared for how much it would actually hurt.

She grit her teeth as he slid himself into her deeper and deeper. 

Sandor breathed heavily as he pushed even further into her. It was clear he was trying to spare her any pain that he could. He let out a moan of pleasure and the sound made Sansa’s desire renew, despite the intense pressure inside her. 

Finally, no barrier was left as he sheathed himself completely inside her. 

Sandor captured her face in his hands and kissed her deeply. 

“Gods, Sansa. I don’t know if I can last very long...” he breathed as he began to move in her. 

Sansa drew in a shaky breath as she felt him begin to move inside her. It burned a little, but she found that there was a bit of pleasure, too. The friction wasn’t too bad. In fact, it would probably would have been very nice, if she hadn’t been so sore. 

He filled her completely, fit against her perfectly. 

Sandor began to move faster, his hips rocking against hers. 

“I’m sorry, little bird,” he moaned. 

“It’s all right,” she whispered, closing her eyes. 

Sansa found that she loved the little gasps he gave, the deep moans as he began to find his own release. 

Suddenly, Sandor drove himself into her deeply, giving a hoarse cry.  


Just as suddenly, he pulled himself out of her, and took himself in hand, pumping furiously. 

He grabbed his shirt and cleaned up his mess then collapsed beside Sansa. 

They stared at one another, both shaken by the intensity of their feelings. 

“ _Damn_ ,” Sandor swore softly. 


	17. Chapter 17

Sandor couldn’t have moved if the bed had been on fire. 

He stared at Sansa, more than a little shaken. Emotions too strong to name, he didn’t dare try, filtered through him. 

Sansa stared back at him, her blue eyes wide. She too seemed to be experiencing an intense reaction of some kind. 

Sandor hoped it wasn’t regret. He had tried to go slow, tried to be gentle and tender, things that he’d never been before. He had wanted her to experience pleasure before the pain. He hadguessed it was her first time, correctly, as it turned out. So why did he feel like it was a first for him, too?

Sansa sighed and rested her cheek on his chest. Her hand came up stroke his arm, carefully, as if she were afraid of disturbing him. 

Sandor laid his chin on the top of her silky head. 

“I’m guessing it wasn’t _your_ first time,” Sansa spoke suddenly. 

Sandor felt himself grow still. That wasn’t the first thing he’d been expecting. Tears, perhaps. Sansa making a run for it, to the bathroom, or hiding in her bedroom for the rest of the evening. Disdain, feelings of remorse he had expected. 

“No,” he said, carefully. “But it was the first time with someone I cared about.”

Sansa shifted so that Sandor had to move back, allowing her to look up at him. 

“You’ve never done this with someone you cared about?” She looked surprised. 

Sandor shifted uncomfortably. “Ah....no. I haven’t.”

Sansa continued to look at him. “You know more about my past than I know about yours. I’m just...curious.” She said the last part bitterly. 

Sandor blinked in confusion. Was she jealous?

“Not much to tell. In my line of work, an actual relationship was out of the question. Not to mention I didn’t exactly have women lining up for me. I’m not exactly a handsome man. I’m also not one to offer wine and roses, and pretty words.”

Sansa shook her head. “I can’t believe that.”

Sandor scoffed. He knew his scars and gruff manner were the first things anyone noticed about him. Not to mention that he’d been a soldier since the age of 18, trained to kill or be killed. 

Not exactly stuff of fairytales. 

More like nightmares.

Sansa stared at him contemplatively. 

“I think...maybe this was meant to be.”

Sandor frowned. “Meant to be?”

Sansa nodded seriously, chin resting on his chest. “I think fate designed this very situation, so that we would find one another.”

“I don’t know about all that,” Sandor told her. 

Sansa smiled, looking beautiful and glowing. 

“I do. Trust me, Sandor. I’m a woman. We know these sorts of things.”

Sandor thought she was absurd and full of dreamy nonsense. 

But he felt a tightening in his chest at her words. 

Sansa was kissing him now and he gathered her in his arms. Snuggling in bed, sharing kisses and kind words. This was new for him. Both of them, he supposed. 

“Sore?” Sandor kissed the tip of Sansa’s perfect nose. 

“A bit,” she murmured, kissing his ear then biting down on the lobe gently. 

He felt his cock twitch.

“Want me to run you a bath?”

Sansa smiled beatifically at him. “You’d run me a bath?”

Sandor shrugged. “If you want me to,” he mumbled. He didn’t add that he’d do just about anything she asked. 

It wouldn’t do for her to know that. He was struggling to come to terms with it himself. 

Sansa kissed him once more, then began to slide out of bed, wincing a bit. “I think I’ll take a shower. It’s quicker.”

“Take your time,” Sandor assured her. 

He watched Sansa stride away, in all her naked glory, towards her bathroom next door. 

His _wife_. 

He should be terrified, but Sandor felt nothing of the sort. Just a peace, a feeling of rightness. He wanted to believe Sansa’s fate theory. 

Scoffing at himself, Sandor stood and decided to shower as well. As he slid out of bed, he noticed a small spot on the bed. 

Blood. 

Sandor began to quickly strip the bed. He didn’t want to frighten Sansa. Which was probably stupid, because the deed was done. But still.

Of course, Sandor’s phone began to buzz just then. 

With a curse, he dropped the bundled bedding and felt his gut clench as he looked at the screen. 

Joffrey.

Sandor answered quickly. 

“Clegane.”

“Dog. I’m back from Dorne. A married man.”

Sandor paused. “Sir?”

“Margery and I are married. I need you to come by my office, and bring Sansa. I’ll have to break things off with her in person. So she’s not bombarded by the media. Tyrion’s suggestion, but he’s clever. She won’t even be tempted run to the media if she has some dignity and closure. She’s a Stark, after all.”

Sandor sat down hard on the bed. 

“Be quick about it.” Joffrey said, then ended the call. 

Sandor showered and dressed, then knocked on Sansa’s door.

She opened it with a smile, wearing sweats and one of his T-shirts.

She must have noticed something about his expression, because her smile quickly faded. 

“What’s happened?”

“Joffrey called.”

She frowned. 

“It seems that he and Margery eloped in Dorne.”

She stared at him.

“He wants me to bring you to his office. To break up with you officially, so you don’t run to the media.”

Sansa let out an incredulous burst of laughter.

“As if I would....fine. I’ll dress in something more appropriate. Oh, I should dry my hair. Do I wear all black? Since I’m supposed to be in mourning? Or maybe something bright and cheerful, if I can find it. That way he can enjoy breaking the news to me, if he thinks it’ll break my spirit. I’ll have to work up some tears...” Sansa began to dig through the guest closet. 

Sandor suppressed a smile, appreciating her quick mind. His proper little bird had a haughty and sarcastic side to her. He enjoyed getting a glimpse of it.

Sansa finally decided to put her jeans and T-shirt from the first day they’d arrived back on. They’d been washed, but were slightly wrinkled. 

“I have been in hiding after all. It adds a convincing touch.” Sansa dried her hair smooth while Sandor watched, then sighed, looking at him in the mirror. 

“Let’s get this over with,” she said.

As they drove to the office, Sansa stared pensively out the window. 

“Joffrey will give you some time off, surely. Since you’ve been guarding me for days, he ought to give you a few days to recuperate.”

Sandor shrugged. “I never know what sort of mood he’ll be in. Benevolent or a raging asshole. There’s no in-between with him.”

“You deserve it,” Sansa replied.

“Are you hinting at something, Little Bird?”

“Only that I hope he gives you some free time.”

“And what might I need some free time for?”

“Oh, I don’t know...maybe to spend some time with your _wife_?”

“I’ve spent almost a week with you. Aren’t you sick of me yet?” Sandor fought back a grin. His wife. He loved the sound of that.

“Not yet,” Sansa peered at him from under her lashes. “Sick of me yet?”

Sandor pretended to think.

“Very funny, Mr. Clegane.”

“Aye, I like to think I am, Mrs. Clegane.”

Sansa smiled. “Say it again.”

“What? That I’m funny?”

“No! Mrs. Clegane.”

Sandor reached for her hand, lacing her fingers into his. “Mrs. Clegane.”

Sansa sighed. “I am, aren’t I?”

Sandor squeezed her hand.

Sandor was waved in by the garage attendant. They drove up to the top level, where Joffrey’s office was located. 

Sansa had withdrawn, and Sandor knew she was preparing herself. He understood, because he had to prepare himself as well. He wasn’t to act like a happily married man, but a harried and harassed employee who’d just spent days on the run. 

Sansa managed to work up a few tears after all, giving herself a worn and worried expression.

“How’d you do that?” Sandor asked.

Sansa sighed. “You don’t want to know the awful things I’ve been thinking. It wasn’t that difficult to get emotional.”

Sandor, wisely, said nothing.

They entered the building, heading towards Joffrey’s area.

Cersei intercepted them first. Her eyes fluttered back and forth between the two of them. Sandor met her gaze and lowered his eyes at a pretense of respect. He hoped Sansa was smart enough to do the same.

“Well”, Cersei exclaimed, patting Sansa’s arm. “It’s so nice to see you here, safe and sound. What an ordeal you’ve been through!”

Sansa lowered her eyes meekly. “I’m thankful to have been under your protection, Mrs. Baratheon. You saved my life.”

Cersei smiled. “Go on in to Joffrey, darling. I’m sure you’re ready to get home and get some rest.”

Sansa nodded and headed toward Joffrey’s door. Sandor followed until Cersei called him back.

“Clegane. A word, please.” Cersei flounced to her office. 

Sandor and Sansa exchanged a quick look. Then they parted ways.

Sansa walked in to see Joffrey tanned and looking positively radiant with some sort of manic excitement.

“Sansa! How are you? I was sorry to hear of your harrowing experience. Thank goodness Clegane was on the job. He isn’t much to look at, but he _is_ one of the best men in the field.”

Sansa nodded. “I’m grateful to you for providing me with his protection. That likely saved my life. I’ll never be able to repay such a favor.”

Joffrey smiled a bright, utterly false smile.

“Don’t even think of it. Your life is priceless. It made me realize, how short of a time we actually have in this world. So, I called you here to give you a bit of news.”

Sansa arranged her face to look intrigued. 

Joffrey sighed, leaning forward on his desk clasping his hands together. “I’m afraid there’s no beating around the bush with this one. While in Dorne, Margery and I were married.”

Sansa forced a look of surprise. “Oh. I didn’t realize Margery was in Dorne as well.”

Joffrey gave her an annoyed look. 

Good. That meant she’d come across as dull and stupid. Just as Joffrey perceived her. She didn’t want to make him doubt his choice for even a moment. 

“Yes, well, she came with me, you see. As did Loras. And while there....well, you know the expression. When you know, you just know.”

Sansa nodded, willing herself to look upset, but brave. She made her eyes huge, her mouth pouting a bit. She tried for a trembling lip, but didn’t want to oversell it.

Joffrey, smiled, an wicked twinkle in his eye. 

“I enjoyed our time together, of course, but in the end, Margery was the obvious choice. Surely you must know, being dull and a bit cold is doing you no favors when it comes to husband hunting? I hate to say it, but you’re a bit boring. No man wants to feel like he’s at a funeral while on a date. Something to keep in mind. I mean that with respect, of course. Just some an advice, from a newly married man.”

Sansa had lowered her eyes to look at her lap. She hoped he didn’t see the disdain in them when she looked back up at him. 

“You’re right...I _am..._ a bit boring.” She made herself sound sad and dull.

Joffrey sighed. “You do have your good points, of course. You’re proper and not unattractive. You’ll find someone, I’m sure.”

Sansa looked down again so she wouldn’t laugh. 

“I do hope we can remain in one another’s good graces,” Joffrey finished. “I have the utmost respect for you and all the Starks.”

Sansa nearly snorted. 

“Of course,” she smiled at him, a tight, forced smile. “I wish you and Margery nothing but the best.”

Joffrey nodded. “I’ll see you around.”

Sansa left the office with no small amount of relief. 

She looked around, but Sandor was nowhere to be found. She did nearly bump into Tyrion as she rounded the hallway corridor, intent on putting distance between herself and Joffrey.

“Ah, Sansa! Thank goodness you’re here. I was getting worried. Have you spoken to Joffrey?” Tyrion’s face held a mixture of friendliness and sympathy. 

“I have,” Sansa replied. “He gave me the news. I hope he and Margery will be very happy together.”

Tyrion snorted. “And I hope every day to grow at least a foot taller. Hasn’t happened yet, but one must always keep hope, mustn’t they?”

Sansa tried to suppress a smile.

“You can laugh. I do try so hard to be funny. It makes up for my other shortcomings. Ha, see? Come now, a small giggle at least. At my expense.”

Sansa laughed and shook her head. “You’re too much.”

Tyrion smiled. “Come on, I’ll walk you to the lobby. Did you call someone to come get you yet? Preferably one of your strapping older brothers? Perhaps your father?”

“Oh,” Sansa blinked. “No, not yet.”

Tyrion patted her hand. “You must be exhausted. Call someone, I’ll wait with you.”

Sansa hesitated. “I came with Sandor, is the issue. I left my bag in his car.”

“Oh,” Tyrion waved his hand at that. “I’m sure Sandor is back to his regularly scheduled duties. You are free to go, Miss Stark. Don’t worry. I won’t leave until you’re safe with your family.”

Sansa tried not to flinch at the usage of her name as she scrolled desperately through her phone.

“I’ll call Jon,” she told him. She couldn’t think of a better person to call in an unusual situation. He’d bring Arya, but at least Arya would distract her.

“And I’ll get your bag. I’ll meet you downstairs. You _really_ needn’t worry, by the way,” he reiterated. “This building is safe as can be.”

Sansa called Jon who was close by. And of course Arya, and also Gendry were with him. He was surprised that Sansa had called him before Robb or Ned, but thankfully he did agree to come for her. 

Sansa pushed the button on the elevator, waited for the doors to reach her, then began her ride down from the twentieth floor to the bottom.

At floor 18, the elevator stopped. The doors shot open, revealing a tanned Margery, looking poised and lovely in an ice-blue sundress. 

The two girls stared at one another, then with a careless shrug, Margery stepped on. She pushed the lobby button briskly and stepped aside. As far from Sansa as possible. 

Sansa was the first to break the silence. 

“I just spoke to Joffrey. I’m not mad, Margery. I hope you all are happy.”

Margery gave her a tight smile. “Thank you.” Then she turned to stare at the elevator buttons. 

“Margery. You don’t have to do this. I honestly wish you all the best. I knew it couldn’t be me. Do you understand what I mean? I realized it before I even got the call. You’re better suited to this than I am.”

Margery turned to Sansa, her eyes full of emotion. Then she threw her arms around Sansa. 

Sansa returned the hug.

“I don’t deserve a friend like you,” Margery muttered. “I didn’t dare hope that you’d still want to be friends.”

Sansa laughed. “Well, you have my friendship still. Who else will give me lipgloss from their cleavage?”

Both girls giggled.

“I understand the nature of the game,” Sansa told her. “But just know, if you need me, I’m there.”

Margery nodded. She drew away from Sansa and patted her arm. “Likewise,” she whispered as the elevator doors opened and she slid out first. 

Sansa went to the front of the lobby to wait. 

A moment later, Tyrion arrived with Sansa’s purse.

“I spoke to Clegane. He didn’t seem pleased that you were leaving. The man is too serious,” Tyrion smiled and handed Sansa her bag. 

Sansa took it, feeling miserable. She didn’t even get to tell Sandor goodbye. She didn’t know when she would see him again. 

She didn’t know much of anything at the moment.

Tyrion looked at Sansa through watchful eyes. 

“Is everything all right?”

Sansa nodded, shuffling through her purse, pretending to search for something. 

“I didn’t steal anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Sansa laughed. “Of course you didn’t. I just...” she trailed off.

Tyrion looked around. 

“Come, walk with me for a moment,” he told her. 

Sansa followed Tyrion to the front, near the window lined area. It spanned at least 30 yards. The sun glinted off the windows and the cars passing by. Sansa longed to feel that sunshine, wanted to walk down the street with Sandor by her side. Like a happily married couple should be able to do.

“I can’t help but notice,” Tyrion spoke calmly, “that there might be something going on between you and Sandor. Something _other_ than professional interest.”

Sansa whipped her head towards him in horror.

“And that,” Tyrion muttered, hands in pockets, “pretty much confirms it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sansa told him coolly.

“Oh, let’s not do this, Sansa. You know, Cersei noticed too. She asked me to see what I could find out. She would die of mirth, thinking that “the dog”, as they call Sandor, took the Stark princess right under everyone’s nose.” Tyrion sighed. “She’s never actually been in a healthy sort of love, keep that in mind.”

Sansa couldn’t speak. 

Tyrion smiled. “I myself have been in love before. Once. It was ripped from me, cruelly. I sympathize with star-crossed lovers, you know. Especially ones who have always been kind to me.”

They reached one end of the lobby, turning to pace the other way.

“Remember the time we were at the spring barbecue in King’s Landing? It must have been two years ago. Anyway, my date, Shay, completely abandoned me and took up with some strapping, brawny type and I was the mockery of the evening. Something I’m used to, but you’d noticed. You asked me to dance and we spent time together chatting. It was a kindness, Sansa. That sort of kindness is rare enough for me, and I don’t forget that sort of thing.”

Sansa smiled sadly at him, vaguely remembering that evening. 

“Cersei wants Sandor to accompany Joffrey and Margery to Essos for their honeymoon. It’ll be at least two weeks, that trip.”

Sansa felt her face fall. 

“However, I’ve decided to offer my own man, Bronn, to go in his stead. Give me time, let me see if I can convince Cersei of it. It will do me good, to see her be the one with the wool pulled over her eyes for once.”

Sansa felt a flare of hope fire in her breast. 

“Looks like your ride is here,” Tyrion indicated past Sansa’s shoulder. She turned to see Jon jogging up the steps to the building. 

“I’ll be in touch,” Tyrion told her. “Take care, Sansa.” His parting words were kind, but sounded like a warning. 

Sansa nodded.

Tyrion left her at the door, striding purposefully toward the elevator. 

Sansa met Jon at the door. 

“Thank you for coming,” Sansa told him. Her head was still spinning from her conversation with Tyrion. 

“Of course,” Jon said. “I’m glad you called. Everyone’s been so worried...come on,” he said, leading her to his car. 

Sansa wasn’t really surprised to see Arya and Gendry in the backseat of Jon’s Charger. 

“You’re alive!” Arya cheered. “Now we just have to keep you that way.”

They sped off, Sansa staring at the building as it disappeared in the rear view mirror behind her.


	18. Chapter 18

Sandor followed Cersei into her office. 

The office was more like some sort of fancy lair. Just one large room, with a heavy, antique mahogany table with drawers, that served as a desk, and a large balcony flanked by two doors that remained open in good weather. There were sheer, billowing curtains that fluttered in the breeze, the color of an expensive red wine. 

Cersei settled at her ornate chair, the one that looked like a fucking throne. She regarded Sandor with a steady look as he stood at attention before her.

“Sit, please,” she gestured to the only other chair in the room, in front of her desk. 

Sandor sat.

“So, Essos,” Cersei began flipping through some papers. “Joffrey and his new bride will be leaving a week from tomorrow. Naturally, he requested that his personal bodyguards attend him on this happy journey.”

Sandor supposed this was the moment he should look flattered, or grateful. He settled for a nod, as he was neither.

“Unfortunately, our jet will be occupied by Robert. Business trip, off galavanting with his whores, I really couldn’t say. The next best thing is provided, a flight in first class. Here’s the flight plan, the itinerary, and a map of the hotel they’ll be staying at,” Cersei handed Sandor some papers. 

Sandor took them with numb fingers. 

“Now, I’m sure that your ‘round the clock sessions these past few days have been quite taxing. Before I send you off for a rest, I just wanted to get a few _tedious_ details sorted”.

Cersei drummed the table once, then propped her chin up in her hand, gazing pleasantly at Sandor.   


  
“Tell me, what was it like to deflower the Stark princess?”   
  


It took all of Sandor’s training, years of experience, to hide his shock.

“Pardon?” Sandor asked calmly.

“Don’t play coy with me,” Cersei smiled and sat up straight as she sipped from an tumbler that Sandor knew contained vodka.  


“I’ve kept my own tabs on you. I’ll admit you disappeared quite well for the most part, but you did come out once. Speaking of, there’s the matter of this.”

Cersei pulled out another paper, sliding it to Sandor. 

It was a copy of his and Sansa’s marriage certificate. 

“I find it almost charming that you were so taken with the girl. You married the little dove just so you could bed her. It’s so old fashioned. Terribly romantic.” Cersei took another sip. “However, Joffrey would be _quite_ displeased to hear of this. He won’t hear it from me, mind you. Think of this as a friendly reminder, to think long and hard about who you work for and where your loyalties lie. Your pay is more than generous, is it not? Not to mention the prestige of being employed by the two most well-known families in all of Westeros.”

Sandor waited for the other shoe to drop. 

“I will not have my son humiliated. You are a trusted employee and your behavior was reprehensible. However, I find that I don’t really blame you. A man, such as yourself, being presented with such a golden opportunity? No, I can’t say that I blame you. However, Sansa was raised to know better. She should have been honored beyond belief to be considered as Joffrey’s betrothed. Many girls would have given almost anything for such a privilege. It was a privilege that Sansa foolishly tossed aside in a moment of...lust.” Cersei eyed Sandor’s large frame with a hint of interest. “That _cannot_ be known, you understand. She is to act as she should. Saddened, and humbled. If she even _hints_ otherwise, I can end your career, your marriage and generally make things quite unpleasant for you and your lovely little wife. Have I made myself clear so far?”

“Very,” Sandor told her in a dead voice.

“Excellent,” Cersei drank deeply and continued on. “What you do in your private time is your business, of course. However, private time isn’t going to be readily available to you for the foreseeable future. Pity, but I’m sure your bride will understand. Marriage, it’s such an endless series of compromises.”

Sandor wished at that moment that he’d never answered Joffrey’s summons today. He should have taken Sansa and ran as far and fast as they could have gone. 

“You’ll have the next three days off duty, and I suggest you make the most of them. It’s going to be a very busy month. A reception dinner is coming up this weekend, then of course the honeymoon. Such a joyous, happy time.”  


Cersei found a bottle of pills in her desk drawer, popped one in her mouth and swallowed it down with the last of her drink. 

“Go on, Mr. Clegane. Go and get your rest.”

Sandor nodded and left Cersei to search for more liquor she’d stashed around her office. 

“Clegane, can you spare a moment? I won’t take up too much of your time,” this came from Tyrion, who was waiting for him as he left Cersei’s office. 

Sandor fought the urge to curse every Lannister to the seven hells.

  
“Look, I know that you’ve got your marching orders, but something seems to have come up and I had a thought. You know my own guard, Bronn?”

“Aye,” Sandor said warily. Bronn was a wild card, but damn good when it came down to brass tactics.

“I thought you might. Well, I was thinking, as a wedding gift to Joffrey, I would send Bronn with the happy couple to Essos. He has worked the area before and knows it quite well. It would make sense to send him in your place. Oh, and I mean no disrespect, this was just an idea I had. Keeps you...closer to home.”

After Cersei’s thinly veiled threats, Sandor felt another twinge of suspicion.

Why did Tyrion care if Sandor stayed closer to home?  


Was he aware of Sansa and Sandor’s union as well? 

Sandor felt caged. He knew he was well and truly caught, and he wanted to tell everyone to piss off. 

However, he needed to play nice. Sansa was counting on him. 

Sandor nodded at Tyrion. “No disrespect taken.”

“Perfect,” Tyrion said. “Let me speak to Cersei about it. No promises, but I’ll do my best.”

Sandor arrived home half an hour later. He wandered through his small apartment and tried to stay in a professional state of mind. 

He needed to clean out his fridge, do laundry, set his Mustang up at the long-term car park. He needed to go to the gym and punch things. He needed a haircut. Probably something besides black jeans and suits if he was to spend weeks in the heat of Essos. Perhaps some linen?    
  


Who fucking cared how hot it would be in Essos. He didn’t want to fucking go.

Sandor fell onto his couch and stared into space for an interminable amount of time. 

Sansa. His warm, loving bride. She’d been like a dream, and he wondered when he’d see her again. Would she want to see him again? Perhaps she was looking into an annulment of their marriage while he sat here like a useless lump. Maybe she finally had realized that she made a mistake. That Sandor Clegane was no prize, and just another pawn in the Lannister’s game, at that.

Sandor stared at his phone. He scrolled to Sansa’s number and stared at it. 

Finally he pushed send. 

The phone rang and rang...

He was just about to hang up when he heard her answer, breathlessly. 

“Sandor?”

Her voice filled him with warmth, a pleasant emotion that he’d felt very little of for the majority of his life. 

“Sansa,” he said. “I just...” he couldn’t finish. 

He’d just wanted to hear her voice. 

“I just wanted to check on you,” he finally managed to say. 

“I miss you already,” Sansa sighed. “I want to see you. Especially if you’ll be in Essos for weeks...” she trailed off sadly. 

Sandor felt his head and heart lighten. She missed him? How had she heard about Essos?

“Are you somewhere safe?”

“I’m at my family’s home. I realize that’s not ideal, but I’ve got people watching out for me. Jon, Arya, Gendry...I think Podrick Payne is even coming. My father had security systems installed.”

Sandor nodded, then realized she couldn’t see him.

“I suppose it’s as safe as anywhere else would be.“

“Sandor...” Sansa hesitated, then blurted out “I want to see you. Can you come? Tonight?”

“Tonight?”

“Yes...you can come here. We can go to the guest house.”

Sandor immediately felt his blood warm at the thought of spending time alone with Sansa. 

“Unless...unless you don’t want to. I mean, I understand if you can’t.”

“No! I mean, yes, I want to,” Sandor told her. 

“Oh,” Sansa sounded hopeful. 

“I’ll come to you. Do not leave the house, though. It might not be safe. Do you want me to bring you anything?”

“Just you,” Sansa answered quickly. “What is the soonest you can come over?”

Sandor looked at the clock and estimated. 

“I’ll come around 8. It’ll still be a bit light out. And I’ll come into the house, all right? No tricks with sneaking around outside.”

“Fine,” Sansa said. “I guess I can make that work.”

Sandor smiled at the petulant tone of her voice. “I’ll see you later.”

“I can’t wait,” Sansa told him. 

“Me neither,” Sandor admitted. Fuck it, he would be truthful.

After they hung up, Sandor completed his tasks in record time. He threw a change of clothes and toiletries into a duffel bag and hurried to the gym. 

After some small talk with some of the other guards, he managed to get in a quick workout, relishing the release of his endorphins as he lifted and punched and ran outside on the track. 

It made him forget, briefly, the other kind of release his body was craving.

He showered at the gym and threw on clean clothes. Then he hurried to the Stark home. 

Had he been an unwanted visitor, or just a passerby, he would have assumed that nobody was home. The house appeared locked up tight, dark and silent. 

He drove around back, as Sansa had instructed, and parked behind the guest house. 

Gendry came to escort him inside, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. 

Sandor had his hand on his gun, before Gendry even round the corner. 

“Calm down, Clegane,” Gendry told him. “We knew you were coming. Sansa wants to speak with you. Follow me.”

Sandor followed Gendry into the house. The men padded through the dim hallway, up the stairs, and stopped at a door. 

Gendry rapped out a light rhythm. The door opened and Arya poked her nose out. 

“Sansa’s guest has arrived.” She gave Sandor a look that he couldn’t interpret. “Let’s give them some privacy.”

“Privacy?” Sandor heard Jon’s voice. 

“Yes, nosy,” Arya left the room, trailed by Podrick and Gendry. “Sandor’s been with the Lannisters all afternoon. I’m sure he and Sansa need to catch up.”

“But-“

“Come on, Jon,” Arya sighed. “I need to go grab more stuff from the basement. Unless you want to play spades for the tenth time.”

“All right, all right,” Jon finally left the room, nodding at Sandor. “We’ll be back in half an hour.”

“One hour,” Arya countered. “Monopoly might be in the attic. And Gendry needs his charger.”

Jon sighed and followed them down the hall.

Sandor slid into the room, closing the door behind him. 

It was a huge, windowless room, lit by lamps. Shelves lined the walls, and soft cushions served as seating. Sandor noticed Ned’s uniform from his military days hanging in plastic, beside what looked like some evening gowns. 

“Welcome to our closet and safe room,” Sansa laughed, jumping up to stand close to Sandor. “We decided this would be the safest spot for now.”

“No windows, seems fairly soundproof. Not a bad choice.” Sandor told her. “Is there another exit?”

Sansa pointed to the evening gowns. “Behind there. It’s a set of stairs that leads to the back of the house, or the garage. Cameras are set up there, too. Pretty handy.”

“Yes,” Sandor agreed. 

They looked at each other for a long moment, then Sansa fell into his arms. 

Sandor held her tightly, burying his face in her hair. 

“We don’t have much time. I only hope Arya can keep them away for an hour,” Sansa stepped back, watching him. 

Sandor swallowed. “Does she know?”

“She figured it out, I think. Long story. I’ve been denying it, but she’s clever. I don’t think the boys know. And I know Arya won’t tell them. She told me she wouldn’t say a word to anyone.”

Sandor leaned his forehead onto hers. “Unfortunately, Cersei knows. And has a copy of our marriage certificate. She wants you to be sad and mope about in public, that’s all she seems to ask for in exchange for silence. She doesn’t want Joffrey to know about us. Yet.”

Sansa’s mouth dropped open. “Did she threaten you?”

”Not really. Just reminded me who I work for. She thinks she can drag me about by the balls like she does every other man in her life. I won’t rock the boat, don’t worry. I’ll do what she wants me to for now, only for your sake.”

“Tyrion knows too,” Sansa whispered. “I don’t know how, but he knows. He spoke to me this afternoon, about sending Bronn in your place to Essos. Something about wanting to pull the wool over Cersei’s eyes for a change.”

Sandor sighed. “Joffrey and Margery will get back from their honeymoon and things will eventually settle down. That’s when we can move forward,” he told Sansa, toying with a silly strand of her hair. “I’d shout it from the rooftops if it were up to me. I’m a lucky man. Not something I can say too often.”

Sansa caressed his cheek, though she still looked pale.

“She wouldn’t hurt you, Sansa. Not if there’s a chance it would be traced back to her. But she could make your life in Westeros a living hell. Same for me. I hate that you have to hide away, but if that’s what keeps you safe...”

Sansa pouted at him. “I’ll go along with the sad, tossed-aside Sansa act. I couldn’t care less what everyone else thinks. Except my parents. I need to tell them, Sandor. The longer I wait, the worse they’ll react.”

Sandor grimaced. “If the Lannisters don’t ruin me, your parents might.”

Sansa sighed. “They’ll come around, Sandor.”

Sandor privately doubted that they would, but he didn’t want to waste time talking. He wanted every moment he could have with Sansa, just the two of them. 

Sandor leaned in to kiss her soundly, until she writhed against him, her cheeks flushed, eyes dark with desire.

“Are you still sore?” Sandor whispered in her ear making her shiver. 

“No,” she whispered back. 

“Does that mean-?”

“Yes. Gods, _yes_. Please.”

Sandor chuckled as Sansa all but dragged him onto a cushion. 


	19. Chapter 19

Sandor and Sansa were dressing, hastily, as their hour with one another was almost over. 

“What did you mean,” Sandor asked, retrieving his shirt and sliding it over his head, “by you think Arya knows about us?”

Sansa watched his muscles bunch and contract with every movement, finding herself growing distracted. 

She shouldn’t want him again so soon, should she? Was that normal?

_ Is anything about this situation normal, Sansa?  _

“Sansa?” Sandor was now fully dressed, and watching her with apparent concern.

“Sorry!” Sansa shook herself out of her musings and tried to focus. “Um, well, it’s a long story.”

“We have,” Sandor checked the time on his phone, “fifteen minutes. Talk to me.”

Sandor settled back into a cushion and opened his arms. Sansa settled up against him, reveling in the perfect fit her body made against his.

“Arya and Gendry were with Jon. They drove me home, and told me about Dad installing extra security around the house. My mother went with the younger boys to stay with her sister Lysa, in the Vale. My father is traveling with Robert, they have some sort of merger negotiations coming up with Stannis. Robert was delighted that Dad wanted to come with him, normally Dad tries to stay behind and take care of things locally while Robert travels.”

“So you’re alone here.”

“Well, not _alone_ , alone. I knew Arya wouldn’t go to the Vale. Mom must have known it too, I doubt she fought her very hard over it. Robb will be here sometime tomorrow, he’s been working with the Freys on some land negotiations. Walder Frey is disgusting, by the way. He actually told Robb that if he agreed to marry one of his daughters, Robb could buy the land for _half_ of the price he was selling it for.”

Sandor chuckled. “Gods, he must be going mad. Very... _traditional_ way to do business.”

“I don’t think traditional is even the word. Archaic, more like.”

“At least it’s Robb Stark being offered to the daughter. She could do far worse, being bartered like that.”

“Absolutely ridiculous,” Sansa huffed. “Anyway, Gendry goes where Arya goes. Podrick usually follows close behind. I think he’s about to be hired by the Tyrells, however. Brienne Tarth has already agreed to let him shadow her on jobs.”

“Hmmm,” Sandor replied. “Good for Podrick Payne.”

“You’re the first one to not joke about him working for a woman in that particular field.”

“Yes, well,” Sandor shifted, drawing Sansa even closer to him. “Brienne Tarth is not a joke. She’s damn good at what she does. I can pretty much guarantee you that half the men joking behind her back wouldn’t have the balls to say the same to her face. She’d lay them out before they could blink.”

Sansa shifted to look up at Sandor curiously. “Have you seen her? In action, I mean.”

“I went against her at a sparring match. Didn’t want to, I intended to take it easy on her. Then it turned into me fighting for my fucking life. We could have used about 20 of her in Blackwater,” Sandor gave Sansa a smile.

Sansa reached up to kiss him. “I choose to believe you let her win. Only because I can’t imagine someone actually beating you in an honest fight.”

“Oh, no, she gained advantage over me more than once. I know a good fighter when I see one, and I can admit it. Fair is fair. Now, tell me. We have,” Sandor checked his phone again. “Seven minutes.”

Sansa cringed. “She found my underwear.”

“What?”

“Well, we were trying to hurry into this closet. Arya was cleaning up after me so I could shower again. I needed to, because...well, I had a reason. And she offered to get me some feminine products, but before I could think, I told her I didn’t need them. Then I realized why she said that, and I started to panic, and I’m terrible at lying and....she kind of guessed the rest.”

Sandor scowled. 

“She was ready to kill you. She thought you’d...attacked me. I had to tell her the truth. That we’d...you know.”

“Does she know we’re married?”

“Not yet,” Sansa sighed. “I never thought I’d have to hide the fact that I was married once I finally did get married. I thought quite the opposite, actually. It makes me feel as if I did something wrong.”

Sandor sighed. “I know. I never even thought I’d ever get married. And here I am, married to an amazing woman. The most beautiful, _perfect_ woman in all of Westeros, actually. And I can’t even celebrate.”

Sansa giggled.

“What?”

“You’re so sweet, even when you’re all cranky. Especially when you’re all cranky. You think I’m beautiful? Amazing? Oh, Sandor.”

Sandor stared at her. “You know you’re beautiful. And those other things. Surely you know.”

Sansa shrugged. “I don’t. I know that I’ve tried to be what everyone wants me to be for years, and they all say nice things when I please them and fall in line. Now I find I don’t really care if I please everyone. I just want to please you.”

Sandor felt his throat grow tight with an emotion he couldn’t quite name. Or didn’t dare.

“You don’t ever have to worry about pleasing me, Sansa. I like you just the way you are. You’re kind and clever, and fun. You’re an excellent dance teacher. Though I am afraid you have shit taste in men.”

It was Sansa’s turn to scowl. “Don’t bring up the past. That’s unfair.”

“I meant the present, actually.”

“Sandor, don’t be ridiculous. You’re honorable and brave. You’re fierce and strong, but you’re so gentle with me. You act all tough and superior, but I know you’re actually sweet and kind underneath it all.”

Sandor snorted. 

“Hush, you are. I love spending time with you. I actually feel comfortable when I’m with you. Like I can be myself. That’s rare. That has to mean something. So I wouldn’t call that shit taste in men.”

“Did you just curse?”

“I guess so. Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.”

“I’m a bad influence, you mean.”

“That too.”

“Mrs. Clegane, if I didn’t know any better, I would think you were making sexual innuendos.”

“Hmmm....maybe I am, Mr. Clegane.”

Sandor and Sansa were very involved in kissing when a knock sounded at the door.

“Sansa!”

“What?” Sansa jumped up in alarm and ran for the door. Sandor hopped up and adjusted himself, hoping to conceal his arousal, while painting a serious look upon his face.

Arya slid in the door and shut it behind her. 

“You didn’t even wait for the knock.” Arya sniffed and grimaced. “Ugh, you two! I need to get some air freshener for your love nest, otherwise your cover is blown.” 

“I thought you were in trouble,” Sansa snapped at Arya. “You sounded like it.”

Arya left the room and came back, spraying a heavy veil of artificial lavender spray. 

“It could have been a trap. Always wait for the knock.”

“Is all that really necessary?” Sansa coughed as the fumes hit her.

“It smells like animals in heat were in here.”

“Arya! Please!”

“I’m just looking out for you two. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Ugh”, Jon pushed past Arya with board games and bags from the local grocery store. “Why’d you spray that crap?”

“Somebody farted.”

“Very mature, Arya.”

“Oh? Was it very mature to stink up the place we’re going to be spending the next day or so in, Sansa?”

“Oh, my gods,” Sansa buried her face in her hands, as Gendry walked in. 

“Sandor, thank you for coming. Please keep in touch. We’re so _grateful_ for all that you’ve done for Sansa.” Arya gave him a mocking little bow.

Podrick arrived last, carrying more food. “Oh, is he leaving? Do you want me to walk you out, Clegane?”

Sandor couldn’t say no. He nodded at the group, and discreetly brushed past Sansa on the way out, his fingers trailing her lower back.

Podrick walked Sansa down the dark and empty hallway. 

“I heard you’re going to Essos.”

“That seems likely, yes.”

“That’s why I’m glad I am signing with the Tyrells. If they’ll have me. They never go anywhere, if they can help it.”

“Aren’t you lucky?”

“I like to think so, yes.”

As Podrick prepared to let Sandor slide out the back door, Sandor paused. 

“You have everything you need here?”

“We do.”

“Enough weapons? A safe place in case this one is compromised?” 

“Yes. Arya said you know about the exits. We’re working on the rest.”

“Make sure you think of something sooner than later. Because if anything happens to her...”

“We’ve got it under control, Clegane. She’ll be fine. Go get some rest. Arya said to let you know if something happens. That you’ll be available for the next few days.” Podrick shook his head. “You’re really dedicated to this job, aren’t you?”

“You have no idea,” Sandor muttered, sliding out into the night. 


	20. Chapter 20

Sandor was back to his dreary existence as Joffrey’s guard dog. 

It was a board meeting day, and Robert, in between “business trips”, was in rare form. 

“Stannis could never accept the fact that I was chosen by father to lead the company. For the Gods’ sakes! We’re _this_ close to closing in on prime Dorne territory, and he wants to meet with me over a trivial matter on Storm’s Landing. If he can’t handle Storm’s Landing, what makes me think he can handle anything further south?!”

“Stannis did have a point, about closing in on the borders, then working inward. I thought so, anyway.” Joffrey threw in his two cents, smiling smugly.

“Yes, you might have mentioned that a time or two when you returned from our negotiations married to the heiress of one of those borders.” Tywin spoke from his corner. 

“I thought it an excellent strategy, what can I say?” Joffrey shrugged.

“Yes, well, we needed to secure the Northern Territory far more than we needed a corner of the South,” Tywin surmised. 

Joffrey began to redden in temper, and Cersei looked ready to fly into a rage at the outright criticism of her darling boy. 

Tywin held up a hand, warding off their tantrums, “What’s done is done. We can look at our advantages. We have quite the stock in Ned Stark and his major properties, and they’re coming along nicely in value. Also, for good news, it seems a merger is inevitable. Robb Stark is making a move to branch out on his own, in the Northeast, with its wild lands and difficult people. That’s quite an entrepreneurial attitude, I admire that. Once he’s out of the picture, the two girls follow. The oldest is a prime candidate for a political match and the younger daughter,” Tywin pursed his lips. “She’s not exactly interested in the family business, from what I’ve gathered.”

“A fierce little fighter, I hear,” Robert smiled. “I like to see a woman with _spirit.”_

He nudged Cersei, who barely favored him with a disdainful glare.

“Jon Snow is making a career out of the military, so he won’t bring any bumps in our road. After that is Bran and Rickon, I believe? Too young to concern themselves with business just yet. Despite everything, I believe the North is in on track to be in our favor at this time.” Tywin turned to Robert, expectantly.

“I’m sure if things go _off_ track, you’ll think of something.” Robert replied. “Perhaps you’ll create an alliance with a Stark daughter after all. The  older one seems more agreeable in that area. Which reminds me, Tommen is coming upon marriageable age, isn’t he?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Cersei gave a breathy laugh. “He’s at least three years younger than Sansa. By the time he’s ready to settle down, she’ll be married.”

Cersei didn’t look at Sandor, but he could feel her attention all the same.

“Your brother? Is he ever going to settle down and marry?”

“Tyrion? It would hardly seem so.”

“No, darling. I meant Jaime.”

It was so silent you could practically hear Cersei’s teeth grinding.

“ _If_ something like that were to come up, I’d handle it myself,” Tywin broke in. “Luckily, we’re not strictly limited to antiquated solutions. Marriage isn’t the only way to form an alliance these days.”

“Hear, hear,” Robert said cheerfully. “And on that note, I’m off to meet the man himself, Ned Stark. We have some field work to do, imagine that? Then we’re meeting Stannis at the Red Inn for dinner. Maybe if I get him drunk enough, he’ll let go of his power mad notions.”

“Good luck, father.” Joffrey rose. “I promised Margery I’d take her to lunch. I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

“Take Trant, Joffrey,” Cersei told him. “I’ll need Sandor to accompany me this afternoon.”

Joffrey looked surprised for a brief moment, then shrugged. “Very well, mother. I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Have a good day, darling,” Cersei smiled sweetly. 

After Joffrey and Robert left the room, only Tywin and Cersei remained. Along with Sandor, of course. But he didn’t matter.

“I cannot abide that smirking little whore’s company for an entire evening . I’ll have to think of yet another excuse.” Cersei grabbed her tumbler and took a long sip.

“You might want to consider making a bit more of an effort. Olenna Tyrell is not an enemy we can afford to make,” Tywin informed his daughter. 

“Very well,” Cersei replied. “You’ll join us too, I assume?”

“Now, why would I do that?” Tywin stood, packing his briefcase efficiently. “Someone with a clear head has to run this company. Sadly, I don’t have the free time for forced family dinners, with smirking little whores.”

Cersei glared at Tywin as he left the room.

She turned to Clegane. 

“I don’t actually need you for anything, I just didn’t want to risk you being in close quarters with Joffrey and his bride. I know you have a fondness for Joffrey’s female companions. Particularly redheads.”

Sandor had been on the scathing end of Cersei’s frustration before. He wisely kept his peace and followed Cersei as she flounced from the room.

“Just wait for him to get back,” Cersei snapped. She walked into her office and shut the door in Sandor’s face.

Sandor stood staring at the closed door for a brief moment. Then he sighed and walked down the hall to wait outside Joffrey’s office.

About half an hour later, Tyrion passed by.

“Sandor?”

“Mr. Lannister,” Sandor nodded.

“Why aren’t you with Joffrey?”

“Waiting for him to get back from lunch. Trant is with him. Cersei had me stay here.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t question it, Mr. Lannister.”

“For the love of the Seven, don’t let my father hear you call me Mr. Lannister. Call me Tyrion. I very much doubt anyone would question your propriety.”

“Very well.”

“Bronn is currently being interviewed by Cersei as a potential candidate to accompany Joffrey and Margery to Essos. I think it will go well. I just hope Bronn has the good sense not to flirt with my sister. She doesn’t seem to be in the most _tolerant_ mood this afternoon.”

Sandor kept his face passive.

Tyrion sighed. “I’ll never get anything out of you. You’re as stoic as that wall up North. But I’m doing this for Sansa. That’s all I’ll say.”

Sandor blinked.

“Ah, there it is. I’m not your enemy, Clegane. This isn’t a power move, or blackmail. I just happen to enjoy happy endings. Besides, why should _everyone_ around here have to be miserable?”

Bronn came into view as he strode down the hall. 

“That woman is a fucking ball buster. I might enjoy seducing her if she didn’t scare me half to death.” Bronn was swarthy and confident, with an easy charm that camouflaged his impressive fighting skills. He nodded at Sandor. “You must be Clegane.”

“You must be Bronn.”

“ _Please_ tell me that you didn’t hit on my sister,” Tyrion groaned. “That was the one thing I expressly asked you to _not_ do.”

“Keep your fucking pants on, I was very professional. In fact, she asked me to ask you back into her office. She wants to finalize some details, as she put it.”

“Well, as long as we stay on her good side, it looks as though you’ll get your change of scenery after all.”

“That’s good to hear,” Bronn told him. “As much as I enjoy working for you, I’m sick to death of trying to find someone without a stick up their ass around here. I need a woman or two that knows how to have a good time.”

“Work hard, play hard. I suppose that’s fair enough.” Tyrion threw up his hands and nodded at them both. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”

Bronn settled into the chair beside Sandor. 

“So, why can’t you go to Essos?”

Sandor turned to look at Bronn with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m just saying, he’s been pretty adamant about me going and you staying here. I don’t see why you’d prefer to stay in this gilded cage, so what’d you do? You piss someone off?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Sandor replied.

“Maybe he wants someone who looks a certain way. No offense, man, but you’re a scary fucker. I mean that as a compliment. People take one look at you and think, do not fuck with this one. He’ll chew you up and shit you out. Me, however,” Bronn shrugged. “They look at me and think, this guy’s looking for two things: to get drunk and to get laid. And they’d be right, I am looking for those two things, pretty much daily. But then again, if someone decides to try something, they’ll see their guts hit the floor before they die. You don’t see it coming with me, you know?”

“I get it,” Sandor told him. 

“Yeah, that has to be it,” Bronn nodded. “Glad we had this talk, Clegane. I was beginning to wonder what the fuck Tyrion was thinking. He’s a smart man, but sometimes he gets ahead of himself and I have to run like hell to keep up. Well, I guess I should go see if they’re done. Might have to save him from his sister.” Bronn grinned waggishly and took himself off. 

Sandor settled back in his seat and continued to wait. He ate a protein bar and took as many bathroom breaks as possible.

Nearly an hour later, Joffrey arrived back to “work”. 

“Clegane, look at you, waiting here like a good dog. Let me check my messages, then we’ll be off for the day.”

Sandor rose and waited briefly. Then he followed Joffrey out to the garage. 

Margery sat in the backseat, stiffly. Trant was in the drivers seat, so Sandor opened the door for Joffrey and took his usual position in the passenger’s seat. 

“Where to, sir?” Trant asked.

“My darling wife suggested we do some shopping, for our reception this weekend. Shall we, darling?”

“I’d love to,” Margery murmured.

They drove to an expensive boutique, where Sandor went through the embarrassing ritual of having the shopkeepers clear the store, something that Joffrey always insisted upon when he shopped somewhere. 

As they entered through the back door, Joffrey gripped Margery’s arm tighter than necessary. 

“Darling, that green dress...you’d look ravishing in that.”

“This one?” Margery strolled up to a green dress on display, and held up to herself, then looked at Joffrey from beneath her lashes. 

“That’s it, darling. That’s the one. Try it on and let’s see how beautiful you look.”

A sales person hurried to help Margery into the dress behind a curtain, and Joffrey scrolled through his phone. 

Finally the curtain opened and Joffrey looked up, a smile painted upon his face.

Margery twirled in the dress, which did fit her very well. Sandor watched as Joffrey nodded and smiled.

“Perfect. I knew it would be.”

“Oh and we have shoes that would complement the dress, perfectly, Mrs. Barratheon,” the sales girl informed her. “And I believe a necklace, if...”

“No, she’ll be wearing jewelry from me, that won’t be necessary,” Joffrey said. “But shoes, of course.”

Margery smiled sweetly at Joffrey. “You’re too good to me, darling.”

Joffrey blew her a kiss and waited until she was back behind the curtain before going back to his phone. 

After leaving the shop, Sandor felt a tension in the air that didn’t seem to make any sense. 

“Trant, take us home, please.”

“Joffrey, darling, my grandmother asked that we pick her up for dinner.”

“And we will, as I told you. There’s no need to nag me about it, Margery.”

“Of course not. I’m sorry, Joffrey.”

“We have time to run home, briefly, before we have to go back out.”

“All right,” Margery told him placatingly. 

Once at the penthouse, Sandor couldn’t help but notice that Margery practically dragged herself in after Joffrey, who took them straight back to the bedroom and shut the door.

Trant rolled his eyes and flopped on the couch. 

“He might have the decency to do this shit at night, when we’re not around.”

Sandor sat down as well, thinking about the last thing he’d seen Joffrey’s bedroom. He began to feel a bit sick.

“He makes her do it at least three times a day. I think he’s trying like hell to get her pregnant. That’ll be good for her, then he’ll leave her alone.” Trant pulled out his own phone and scrolled mindlessly.

A sharp cry came from the room, then abrupt silence. 

Sandor kept his passive look, staring out the window. He tried to convinced himself that even Joffrey wouldn’t be stupid enough to harm Margery right before dinner with her grandmother.

About fifteen minutes later, Joffrey came out dressed in dinner clothes, whistling a tune Sandor didn’t recognize. He strolled over to the liquor cabinet and poured two generous drinks. 

A buzzing came over the intercom in the entryway. “Mr. Baratheon? A classified message is here for you, sir.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Joffrey tossed down his drink. “Come on, Trant. Dog, stay here and tell Margery I’ll be right back.”

Sandor had half stood, then sat back down.

A few minutes after Joffrey and Trant had left for downstairs, Margery emerged from room. Her hair was pulled back into a sleek bun and her makeup had been expertly reapplied. Her dress was black and formfitting.

Sandor caught a glimpse of a large, purpling bruise on Margery’s upper arm before she pulled on a lightweight cardigan and strode over to the bar and downed her drink in three long swallows. 

“Where is Joffrey?” Margery didn’t quite look at Sandor as she asked this. Instead she moved over to the windows to stare at the view below. Her back was to Sandor. 

“He went downstairs with Trant to get a message,” Sandor answered. 

Margery nodded, her back still facing him.

Sandor couldn’t stop himself from asking. 

“Are you all right?”

Margery tensed, briefly, then turned to face Sandor.

“I’m fine,” she answered with a polite smile.

Sandor just looked at her.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle, truly,” Margery said, waving a handwith a little laugh. “Don’t concern yourself. Please.”

“All right,” Sandor answered easily.

The door opened and Joffrey strode in, Trant dogging his heels.

Joffrey gripped a piece of paper, his mouth opening and closing, but nothing coming out.

“Joffrey,” Margery hurried to his side, concern etched on her features. “What is it?”

“My father,” Joffrey sputtered. “My father’s been shot.”


	21. Chapter 21

Sandor called Sansa the moment he left Lannister grounds.

“Sandor,” Sansa answered the phone, her voice filled with relief. 

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t get away.”

“I know, and I shouldn’t have tried to call you at work. That was stupid of me. I was just so worried about you, after hearing about Robert...”

“It’s been hell. Can I see you?”

“Yes! Please.”

“I’m on my way.”

Sandor drove through the balmy night air, the wind whipping at him through the open window.

He parked behind the Stark house and was met by Jon.

“So it’s true?” Jon hurried to meet him in the drive.

“Aye,” Sandor replied tersely. “It’s true.”

“Gods,” Jon shook his head and turned to head toward the house with Sandor. 

Jon left Sandor with Sansa in their little closet area, which was a bit messier than it had been two days ago.

“I know this is a bit of a risk, but we’re leaving for a bit. I have a key to the gym and we need to blow off some steam. I know you’ll protect her. Two hours, tops.”

“Go ahead,” Sandor told him.

As soon as they were gone, Sansa fell upon Sandor as if he were a plate of food and she’d been starving.

“Sandor, thank the Seven,” she kissed his neck, her tongue darting out to taste where she’d kissed. 

Sandor nearly ripped his clothes in haste to get them off, then more carefully, helped Sansa remove hers. 

He lifted her up, positioning her against the side of the closet, then entered her in one smooth stroke.

Sansa moaned, her head falling back against the wall. She gave him a look filled with desire as she clung to him, arching to meet him. 

Sandor buried his face in her neck as his hips began to buck against her. With each thrust, Sansa let out breathy sighs of pleasure, encouraging Sandor to move at the speed that he craved. Her legs wrapped themselves around his waist as she tried to take him in, deeper and deeper.

Sandor clenched his teeth, trying to hang on until Sansa found her release. 

Luckily, he didn’t have to wait much longer. Sansa’s walls tightened around him and she cried out as she came. 

He was right behind her. He nearly didn’t pull out in time, the feeling of her soft cunt milking his cock almost too good to give up. 

Breathlessly, Sandor grabbed a wad of fast food napkins nearby and cleaned himself up. Then he collapsed on the floor beside Sansa and she snuggled into his embrace. 

“I think that was exactly what I needed,” she murmured, pulling herself up to rest on top of him. 

Sandor stroked her, relishing the softness of her skin.

“As soon as I can come out of exile, I’ll go get on birth control,” Sansa told him. “I want to feel you come inside of me.”

Sandor felt his cock twitch. 

“I _need_ to feel you come inside me...” Sansa crawled into his lap, her wet folds teasing his throbbing dick as she slid herself back and forth over him. 

“I could always take care of that myself. Well, a doctor could. Vasectomy. Two snips and I’m shooting blanks.” Sandor began kissing her neck, pleasantly surprised that he was already feeling primed for round two.

“Sandor, no!” Sansa pulled away, looking horrified. “I’m not talking about permanent birth control. I meant, you know, just for now.”

“Just for now? Do you mean...?”

“That we might want children someday? Well, I don’t want to _completely_ rule out the possibility. Do you?”

Sandor couldn’t speak for the longest time.

“I want them if you do, Little Bird.”

“No, that’s not what I mean. It’s a bit more serious than just letting me have my way. Have you ever thought about having kids? I mean, is that something you would want? Truly?”

“I’ve thought about it,” Sandor admitted. “But I never thought it would actually happen.”  
  


“Why not?”

“I never thought anyone would want to have my children. And if they did, I never figured on settling down long enough to raise children.”

Sansa was silent, her fingers tracing patterns onto his chest.

“Now, I guess, I like the thought of having kids.” Sandor found to his surprise that it was true. “Especially with you.”

Sansa leaned her head against his. “I like the thought of having kids with you, too.”

“Just not right now.”

“No, definitely not right now.”

“You’re not making the decision to wait easy.” 

“Sandor, you’ll just have to try and control yourself.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You get to come without interruption. I don’t get quite the same pleasure.”

“I didn’t realize that this was such a hardship for you.”

“The only thing hard is between your legs. Everything else is so good I feel like I’ve died and gone to the heavens.”

Sansa straddled him, lining him up at her entrance. “This hard thing, you mean?” 

“Aye,” Sandor groaned, as she inched herself onto him slowly. “That would be it.”

Sansa gave a sound of pleasure as she lowered herself onto him. “Oh, that’s.... _oh_.”

Slowly she began to rock back and forth on his lap. Sandor briefly saw stars once she began to move in earnest. It was his turn to lean back against the wall, as he blissfully watched Sansa move against him.

He lasted just slightly longer this time.

“You’re going to make me an old man before my time, woman,” Sandor told her as he nuzzled her afterwards. Sansa had thrown a blanket over them and they were both content for the moment.

“I hope you can keep up with a younger wife. No, don’t frown at me like that, I’m teasing. I plan to take very good care of you. It will be easier once we’re allowed to live like an actual married couple.” Sansa sat up and sighed. “I’ve got to clean this place up while the others are gone. I adore them for protecting me, but they live like pigs.”

Sandor took a look around the room, the debris of food wrappers, clothes, and water bottles strewn about. 

“I’ll help you.”

They worked quickly, stuffing the trash into grocery bags that were lying around, and tying them off. They folded blankets and fluffed the cushions. 

“That’s better,” Sansa looked relieved. “I’ve been working on my thesis, by the way.”

“How is that going?”

Surprisingly well, actually. It’s helped me to stay occupied, for the most part. I just miss seeing the outdoors. The only time I leave here is to sneak into the bathroom a few times a day.”

Sandor felt an impotent frustration well up inside him. He wanted to spirit Sansa away from here and go miles away. But they couldn’t leave. They couldn’t do anything. It was a helpless rage that didn’t sit well with him in any sort of fashion.

“Do you think Robert will live?” Sansa’s turn in the conversation distracted him.

“It’s hard to say,” Sandor told her. “He’s lucid and appears to be making quite the effort to pull through. But the surgery to repair the internal damage is risky. Almost as dangerous as the injury itself.”

Sansa nodded, looking troubled. 

“He’s got as good a chance of making it as anyone,” Sandor assured her. 

Sansa sighed. “My father will be so distressed. He was there.”

“Aye, he was.”

“I hope he doesn’t blame himself.”

“Stannis and Ned both told the police that it happened very quickly. Nobody could have predicted it, or saw it coming. One thing troubles me, however.”

“What?”

“Melisandre. The woman Stannis brings with him everywhere now. She had apparently taken Robert aside at dinner. All the way across the restaurant, to a secluded corner. I’m sure everyone just thought it was a seduction thing, knowing Robert and his habits. Probably still haven’t given it a second thought. But I think I’ll stop back in and check the area myself. Something just seems off to me. First of all, I don’t see Stannis willingly sharing his...business partner.”

“His _business_ partner? Not likely.” Sansa scoffed. “She’s seduced half the men in Westeros. I’ve heard the stories. If you happen to be around her...please be careful, Sandor. She’s very clever. And she’s beautiful.”

Sandor scoffed. “She wouldn’t waste her charms on me, Little Bird. Let her try. She holds no appeal for me.”

Sansa looked unhappy. “I don’t even want her to try,” she said in a pouty tone.

“Jealous?”

“ _No_. Just concerned.”

“Come here.”

Sansa padded over to Sandor and let him pull her into his lap.

“If that woman came to me bare assed naked and promised me all the land and gold that the world held, I wouldn’t even look at her twice.”

“That’s precisely how she operates. How did you know that?”

“I didn’t. Unlucky guess. This is backfiring on me very quickly, isn’t it?”

“Try again,” Sansa told him, putting her arms around him.

“You are the only woman I want. Just you. I’m still waiting for someone to tell me this is all a big joke, you and me, married and fucking each other’s brains out. I’d never do anything to jeopardize this. Ever. You’d be out of your beautiful red head if you ever think otherwise.”

“ _That_ ,” Sansa pulled him down for a lingering kiss. “Is exactly what I hoped you would say.”

“I’m glad I finally got it right.”

“If she ever comes near you, I’ll kill her myself.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“You taught me to punch, remember? Maybe I won’t kill her. I’ll just beat her to a pulp.”

I’m lucky to have your protection, Mrs. Clegane.”

Sandor drove back to his apartment feeling bereft. 

Each time he had to leave Sansa, it was more and more painful. 

“This isn’t right, damn it,” he muttered to himself.

He pondered his options. 

He could tell Joffrey himself about marrying Sansa. Just go straight to the source, and bring it all out in the open. Knowing Joffrey, however, he’d ruin Sansa’s life over it. Just because she didn’t mourn her chance to become Mrs. Baratheon long enough. Conceited little prick.

He could quit his job and take Sansa somewhere far away, like Braavos. He’d take any job he could get there, somehow he’d take care of them. But to be on the run wasn’t any safer than the situation Sansa was in now. Not to mention that Sansa would miss her family and waste her degree that she was working so hard for. Sandor would die before he willingly caused Sansa any grief.

Sandor’s phone rang, breaking through his thoughts. He checked the screen. Trant.

“Clegane.”

“Get your ass to the hospital. Robert is dead, and it’s fucking chaos.” 

_Click_.

“Shit,” Sandor muttered.   


He pulled a u-turn in the middle of the highway and headed for the hospital. 


	22. Chapter 22

Arya was so bored. So very, very bored.

“Let’s play rummy,” Gendry suggested.

Arya sighed.

“Something easy, then. Twenty-One?”

Arya rolled over and stared at the wall. 

“You don’t have to entertain her every second of the day, you know,” Sansa told him, tapping away on her laptop.

“I do, actually. When she gets bored, things can happen. Sometimes they’re fun, but usually they’re not.”

“Arya, grow up. Don’t make your boyfriend feel responsible for your actions.”

“Look who’s talking,” Arya muttered. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” Arya answered.

Sansa shut her laptop and stood. 

“Well, I need a shower, if you want to accompany me to the bathroom. That will at least be a change of scenery, won’t it? The closet, to the bathroom.”

“Yippee,” Arya’s tone was deeply sarcastic, but she got up and followed Sansa out the door regardless.

“I can’t imagine why you need a shower again, so soon.”

Sansa blushed. “It takes up time, at least. Not much else to do.”

Arya rolled her eyes. 

Once Sansa was safely in the bathroom, Arya waited outside the door.

“I hope you’re using protection,” Arya muttered in the direction of the bathroom. “The last thing anyone needs right now is a bunch of little Cleganes running around.”

Arya felt herself perk up. _Was_ Sansa using protection? Was she on the pill? Or using condoms?

Only one way to find out. 

Arya began snooping through Sansa’s purse, the purse Sansa never let leave her side. 

She checked Sansa’s wallet. That’s where Gendry used to hide condoms, before Arya informed him that they might as well not use anything if he wanted to use condoms from a wallet that bounced and rubbed against a back pocket near his ass all day. Gendry was more careful after that. 

She didn’t find condoms, but something was weirdly lumpy in the zippered pouch on the side of the wallet. 

Arya opened it to find a ring. Not just any ring, a huge, fancy ring. A huge, fancy, _antique_ -looking ring.

Arya stared at it, eyes wide.

“Holy shit,” she finally uttered.

Sansa had a _ring_? Was it from Clegane? 

That couldn’t be right. 

Arya could get the information out of Sansa, like she did with the whole sex thing, but she found that she was on a slippery slope. Dating and sex was one thing, but a diamond ring was serious. 

Of course it was. Sansa would never do the _casual_ thing. It was Sansa, she never casually did anything. 

The shower turned off and Arya heard Sansa pull the curtain back. 

She nearly dropped the ring in her haste to return it to the wallet. She zipped it back up carefully and returned it to its place in the purse.

Sansa came out moments later, dressed in clean clothes.

“What?” Sansa met Arya’s eyes.

“What do you mean, _what_?” Arya asked flippantly.

“You have a weird look on your face,” Sansa answered, as she walked over to her vanity to pick up her brush.

“No, I don’t.”

“You do, but it’s fine. Maybe you have cabin fever.”

Arya waited as Sansa finished combing out her hair, and spritzed herself with perfume. Then she followed Sansa out into the hall.

“Why do you need perfume? It’s just us in there with you. Seems like a waste.”

“Because you all don’t shower as regularly as I do, and I want to smell something nice. Besides, don’t you ever do things just for yourself sometimes? To make yourself feel better?”

“I don’t think Clegane is going to be all that impressed by your fancy perfume. He seems like the type who couldn’t tell the difference between expensive perfume and insect repellent.”

“Okay. Can we not do this now?”

“Would you rather do it in front of Jon and Gendry and Podrick?”

“Arya, please.”

“Fine, but don’t come crying to me when he hurts your feelings. Or crushes you with his giant ogre body.”

Sansa giggled. “Stop. He would never hurt me.”

“That’s what they all say.”

“Maybe you’re right, but I can think of one exception. Has Gendry ever hurt you?”

“No, but that’s different. He knows better than to hurt me.”

“I think he’s careful not to hurt you because he’s in love with you, Arya. Not necessarily because he fears you,” Sansa laughed.

“Well, whatever. Maybe a bit of both.”

Arya groaned as they rounded the hall.

“I can’t go back in there.” She sighed dramatically, rubbing her temples. “I’m so sick and tired of being locked in a room. Let’s run away. Being on the run with my sister has to be better than being trapped in a closet with her.”

“It’s a big closet. Come on,” Sansa said cheerfully. “You can teach me to play poker.”

“I’ve tried, don’t you remember? You said yourself that you’re hopeless at poker.”

“Well, that was then. This time I promise to take it more seriously.”

“Fine,” Arya muttered. 

Hours later, Arya triumphantly beat Sansa’s hand for the third time. 

“It’s your poker face. Or lack thereof. You have the opposite of poker face. Just face it, you’re too honest, Miss Perfect.”

Sansa tossed her cards down and scowled. “I can get better, you know. I just need to practice! It’s like anything else. You practice and you get better.”

“This isn’t piano, Sansa. You just have to be born with it.”

“That is _so_ not true! All poker players aren’t born with poker face.”

“All right, but they have to know how to fib, for starters. Which you definitely don’t. What do you think, Gendry?”

Gendry smiled apologetically at Sansa. “There’s nothing wrong with being honest, Sansa. It’s a very admirable quality.”

“Oh, come on, Gendry,” Sansa rolled her eyes. “Like you would take my side over Arya’s, anyway. You _can_ learn poker face, and you’ll never convince me otherwise.”

“It’s not about taking sides-“ Gendry argued, looking flustered. 

Just then, Jon’s phone rang. 

Everyone went silent.

“Hello?” Jon answered.

Jon listened for a long while to the person on the other line. He made noises of assent from time to time, but otherwise stayed quiet. 

His eyes flittered toward Sansa, then he looked away just as quickly.

“ _What_?” Sansa hissed, practically hanging on Jon’s arm. 

Jon held up one finger and mouthed ‘wait’ as he gently shrugged Sansa off of him.

“All right,” Jon finally said. “We’ll be looking for you to get back. I’ll tell the others.”

He hung up and looked at Sansa. 

“Stop torturing me, Jon! What? What is it?”

“There’s no need to be all jumpy, Sansa.”

“Who was that?”

“Dad. He never left King’s Landing. Apparently they’ve arrested the shooter and your attempted murder was a case of mistaken identity.”

“Mistaken identity doesn’t make me feel better. Someone definitely tried to kill me,” Sansa told him. 

“I know. Let me back up. The police arrested Dontos Hollard.”

“Dontos Hollard....the _comedian_?!” Podrick exclaimed. 

Jon nodded. “I know, it hardly seems to make sense....the story is that he owes the wrong people a lot of money. A _lot_ of money. Then he was offered a huge sum to kill Stannis’s red-haired woman. Which he claimed to believe was Sansa.”

“Me?!” Sansa yelped. “I’ve barely spoken two words to Stannis Baratheon in my whole life. Melisandre is definitely the redhead who’s always by his side. Everyone knows that.”

“Well, Dad said he was high as a kite when they picked him up. Anyway, Dontos claims he got the redheads mixed up. And that he intended to shoot Melisandre the night that Robert was shot.”

“Wait,” Arya said. “He actually _confessed_ all this?” 

“Apparently.”

“How did they think to look for Dontos Hollard? I mean, that’s quite the random person to consider for an attempted homicide and a murder.”

“He dropped his wallet at that Starbucks Sansa was at. He’d also performed at the Red Inn on the evening of Robert’s shooting. Poorly. He was actually booed off the stage by Joffrey.”

Everyone grew silent.

“Do I think Dontos is the fall guy for the real shooter?” Jon finally said. “Absolutely. However, the end target was likely Robert, which means that Sansa might soon be safer than she was before all this happened.”

“Not necessarily,” Arya interrupted him. “If Robert was the intended target, why did the shooting at Starbucks even happen? That doesn’t make sense.”

“ _My_ theory is, I think that there were two shooters. One after Melisandre, likely working for the Lannisters. One after Robert, who took advantage of the confusion and used it to make their move,” Jon replied. 

“Now _that_ could make sense.” Arya stared off into space, deep in thought. “But if Melisandre is still running around, what if someone makes the same mistake twice?”

“That’s exactly what Dad said. And to be honest, I agree. However, Melisandre and Stannis are going to hightail it back to Storm’s Landing after the funeral. If Dad knows that, a potential shooter would too. So, if someone is still after Melisandre, they’d have to follow her there.”

“When is the funeral?”

“Tomorrow. Which is Wednesday. But get this. Joffrey is still having his and Margery’s reception on Saturday.”

“You’re not serious.”

“They’re going to let PR spin it into something halfway believable. They’ll probably say it’s what Robert would have wanted, and all that crap.”

“Gods, that’s _insane_. To think of a stupid party when your dad just died.”

“Yeah, well, that’s a Lannister for you.”

Sansa blinked. “So I’m free.”

“ _Well_ ,” Jon hedged. “It might be best to wait until after the funeral. That way you won’t have to go, and we can say you were in hiding. People will understand. Then you can pay your respects later.”

“I suppose I can wait another day,” Sansa answered. 

Arya sighed audibly. “One more day in this closet.”

“Would you rather attend the funeral?” Sansa asked her.

“Gods, no. _That_ won’t be anything but a circus. I can’t stand the disrespect. A load of  high society assholes trying to be seen at a funeral. I get secondhand embarrassment just watching them.”

“Well, if you’re helping me hide, you have the perfect excuse to skip it. So we stay here one more day?”

Everyone was in reluctant agreement. 

“Thank you,” Sansa said with a smile.

“Dad says he’s coming home after the funeral.” Jon informed them.

“What about mom?” Arya asked. 

“She won’t be expected to attend with the boys. Everyone knows she’s been staying with Lysa.”

“I bet she goes with Dad,” Arya said. “She’ll feel bad for him. I’ll call her.”

While Arya went to call their mother, Jon and the others began trying to make dinner plans.

“I can’t eat out again,” Gendry groaned. “All this take-out food is making me feel like crap.”

“Well, we can’t exactly cook.” Podrick told him.

“Why not? I know how to cook.”

“Because nobody is supposed to _be_ here. We can’t blow our cover. By the way, I’ve seen you cook. You’ll have the smoke alarm blaring and everything.”

Gendry fell back onto a cushion with a groan. 

“What if _Sandor_ makes us food?” Arya asked. She gave Sansa a sly glance. “He cooked while Sansa had to stay with him.”

“Arya, he’s done more than enough. I’m not making him cook for us, too.” Sansa gave Arya a very pointed look.

“Well, see if he’ll at least pick up salads,” Arya demanded. “We’re all going to leave this closet with clogged arteries if we don’t eat something healthy for a change.”

Sansa sighed and picked up her phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” Sansa replied, trying to keep the dopey grin off her face at the sound of Sandor’s voice. She turned away from the others. “Are you busy?”

“I’m off in about an hour.”

“I hate to ask, I know you’ve had a long day...”

“But?”

“But would you mind bringing salads to us? It seems that everyone is feeling the urge to eat vegetables.”

Sandor paused. “Of course. I’ll call you when I leave here.”

“Okay,” Sansa replied. 

“Well?” Arya demanded. 

“He said yes and he’d call after work.”

Sansa waited anxiously until Sandor phoned.

“Three large chef salads, and one small chicken Caesar salad for me.”

“That’s not enough food, Little Bird,” Sandor told her. Sansa heard the rumble of his Mustang as he started the engine.

“It is when you’ve done nothing but sit around all day.”

“Fine...I’ll be there soon.”

Sandor arrived with the salads. He looked exhausted.   
  


“Clegane,” Podrick greeted him. “Thanks for bringing food. Everything in the outside world must be a nightmare right now.”

“I’m sure the paparazzi has had a field day, taking advantage of this,” Sansa muttered.

“They’re fucking vultures,” Sandor agreed. “I’ll be glad when this is over.”

“I talked to Dad,” Jon said.

“And?” Sandor popped a forkful of salad into his mouth.

“And I don’t know if I buy the theories.” Jon said carefully.

“That’s because you’re smarter than that,” Sandor replied around his mouthful of food. “Dontos Hollard isn’t a murderer, any more than I’m a fluffy fucking bunny. He just let his debts get too high. And tangled with the wrong people.”

“Is Sansa going to be safe to go back out?” Arya asked. “I need to know for my own sanity.”

“I didn’t realize you were so worried about me, Arya.” Sansa deadpanned.

“Yeah, that’s what I meant.”

“I don’t know,” Sandor looked unhappy. “It’s too soon to say. With Robert dead, Stannis is all set to move in on the company even more. He claims that he and Melisandre are returning to Storm’s Landing, but he’ll come back soon enough, this time with a lawyer.”

“It’s better for you to lay low, Sansa,” Jon told her thoughtfully. “At least it’s summer and you can work from home on your thesis.”

“Sounds like a super fun time,” Arya told him. “There’s just one teensy little problem.”

“What?” 

“Mom said we’re all expected to attend the reception this weekend. All of us, including Sansa.”

“What? _Why_?” Sansa cried. “Can’t I just be rid of the Baratheons and Lannisters already?”

“Unfortunately, no, not yet. It seems that Joffrey The Pig wants to flaunt his happy relationship in your face.” Arya chuckled. “Gods, what an asshole. And to think you were going to _marry_ him, Sansa.”

“I need to talk to Sandor,” Sansa suddenly announced, calmly. “Can you all find something to do? Away from here?”

Arya and the others practically raced one another out of the room. 

“Be back in later!” Arya called as the door shut.


	23. Chapter 23

Sandor once again stood in the board room at Baratheon Holdings, listening to the rich fucks who ran Westeros argue like spoiled children.

“As Robert’s last remaining sibling, I’m entitled to a controlling share of the company. Our father built this company from the ground up, and left myself, Renly, and Robert each a portion. You _cannot_ keep me from what is legally mine.”

“Your father,” Tywin told Stannis coldly, “inherited this company from Ormund. Luckily, Steffon managed to not run the entire operation into the ground, despite his best efforts. More money was going out than was coming in, and everything was a mess. If he hadn’t appointed me CFO, we wouldn’t even be here, having this conversation. And I beg pardon for speaking ill, but Robert was no better.”

Stannis began to redden in rage.

“You are only part of this company because of the farce of a marriage that Robert had with your daughter. Books could be written about the dysfunction of your own family. You have the _audacity_ to criticize _my_ family? The family that made you an extremely wealthy man?”

“I don’t need your family’s money, Stannis. I never have. I am simply following the principles of your family’s business. It says here, in a document dated three years before Robert’s death, that the entirety of Robert’s estate will pass onto his eldest son. That would be Joffrey. Followed by Myrcella, his second eldest, then Tommen. Your stake, let me see,” 

Tywin skimmed the papers he held.

“Here. In the event of Robert’s death, you retain ownership of the estate at Storm’s Landing, the 700-acres of land that accompany it, and his collection of classic automobiles, dating from 1956 to 2013.”

“When you changed the actual estate, I was not present, as you very well know. My signature is on none of the papers, I was not notified and shall I elaborate further? We all know that Robert’s so-called son is-“

“Now the president of this company,” Cersei interrupted Stannis. “ If you continue to drag your sad little agenda out in such a dramatic fashion, I’ll have you removed from the building. We are _grieving_ , Stannis. You were given your fair share from this tragedy, and I will _not_ tolerate another moment of this disrespect.”

“Disrespect,” Stannis snorted. “You’d know all about disrespecting my brother, wouldn’t you? You’re a pathetic, drunken whore who engages in unspeakable-“

“Clegane, take care of this.” Cersei flicked a bored hand in Stannis’s direction.

Sandor stepped forward and looked Stannis in the eye. 

“I’ll ask you once, politely, to leave of your own accord, Mr. Baratheon. If you refuse to do so, I’ll remove you myself.”

“You’ll not put your fucking hands on me,” Stannis sputtered. “I’ll leave, but I’ll be back. You all may have made a fool of my brother, but you’ll not have the same luck with me.”

Stannis spun on his heel and marched out of the room.

“What is it about a death that brings out the worst in people? I’ve always found it so peculiar,” Tyrion wondered aloud.

“Stannis has always had some _peculiar_ notions,” Tywin replied. “I suppose he believes he’s entitled to more than his fair share. Pity, that he’d try to take advantage of a widow and her children in such a fashion.”

“Joffrey, darling, why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon off?” Cersei suggested sweetly. “You and Margery surely deserve a day of rest. Or at least some distraction from this whole distasteful affair.”

“I believe I’ll take you up on that,” Joffrey agreed. “Margery and I have barely spoken since all this happened. I’ll take her somewhere nice for lunch.”

“I’m sure that will be lovely for you both,” Cersei answered, smiling at Joffrey as if he were still 5 years old.

Sandor followed Joffrey out to the garage, where Joffrey climbed into the backseat of his Range Rover. 

Sandor drove, since Trant was off.

“To my penthouse, dog. We’ll pick up Margery and go to lunch. Then you can take us back home and pretend not to listen while I fuck her,” Joffrey cackled. “I think Trant likes to listen. Of course, he’s a pervert....Do you even have a dick, Clegane? Or did it get burnt off as well? If you did have a dick, you probably should have stuck it in Sansa. Gods knows, that’s a girl who could use a good fucking.”

Sandor felt his heart skip a beat, though he took care to keep his face blank. What was the fascination Joffrey held for Sansa? He seemed to despise her, yet he couldn’t stop talking about her.   


During the remainder of the drive, Sandor fantasized about pulling over and giving Joffrey the thrashing he deserved. 

Once they arrived, Sandor followed as Joffrey burst through the front door. 

“Margery, darling, I’ve come to take you to lunch.”

Margery had been seated at the dining table, where she had been engrossed in papers with little notes jotted all over them. She looked up with a forced smile. 

“Oh. Let me just grab my purse.” Margery jumped up immediately and hurried into their bedroom. 

Joffrey walked over the the table and studied the papers with a frown.

“What’s this?” He called, observing the mess of papers before him.

“Notes for the reception, darling. They’ve asked me to provide the seating chart a day in advance. I didn’t want to trouble you with it, I know you’ve got so much on your mind right now.” Margery hurried back into the room. 

Two weeks of marriage already had her well-trained in knowing her husband’s moods, Sandor thought. Rule number one, Prince Joffrey The Asshole _hated_ to be kept waiting. 

“Margery, what have I told you about consulting me in all things? _All_ things? We can’t afford to make even the smallest mistake. If we screw anything up, that’s _all_ people will talk about for weeks.”

“Of course, darling. I’m so sorry. Would you like me to bring this to lunch so we can look over them? Together?”

“No, what I’d _like_ for you to do is work in the office. This,” Joffrey scattered the papers with one sweeping motion of his hand, “does not belong in the dining area. I’ve told you how much I hate clutter in here.”

Margery hurried after the papers and stopping with her face hidden as she gathered them up.

“All right,” she said calmly as she stood. “Let me just quickly put these to the office.”

“Clegane,” Joffrey said. “Take these to the office.”

As Joffrey took the papers from Margery, he noticed something on the paper that made him frown. 

“Why is Sansa absent from the Stark table? Where did you put her?”

Margery looked uncomfortable. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to invite her, darling.”

“What in the seven gave you that idea?”

“I thought it might be a bit...awkward,” Margery answered. “For everyone.”

Joffrey handed the papers to Sandor and stood to face his bride calmly.

Without warning he raised his hand and slapped her. 

Margery clutched her red cheek in shock. Her mouth parted open once, but she didn’t cry. She didn’t make a sound. 

“You do not ever, _ever_ make that type of decision without consulting me first. I told you to invite the entire Stark family, and I meant the entire Stark family. Without Sansa in attendance, it will look as if I deliberately slighted her. She will be there and she will smile and congratulate us. You will never undermine _any_ of my decisions, ever again. Understood?”

Margery simply nodded, straightening herself up to face him. She moved slowly, as if she were trying to keep him at bay, and Sandor wondered if this was becoming a usual occurrence.  
  


“Let’s go,” Joffrey said, heading toward the door.

Margery was mostly silent on the ride over. She took some time to conceal the mark on her face with makeup, but otherwise listened to Joffrey prattle on as if everything were fine. Which, for Joffrey, it probably was.

“Stannis really is becoming a nuisance. I think I’ll require extra security before too long. He’s got a depraved notion that I should just pass the company onto him, no questions asked. And the things he said to my mother...he called her a whore, for starters. Can you imagine?”

“I can’t believe he’d have the nerve,” Margery replied.

“He has no sense of decorum,” Joffrey sniffed. “It’s sad, honestly. He doesn’t realize how ridiculous he is. His own _whore_ didn’t even show up today. Even she must realize he’s fighting a losing battle.”

Sandor pulled into the restaurant Joffrey had chosen, and got out, helping escort the couple inside. 

Margery ate very little. Joffrey drank entirely too much, of course, and ate like an unsupervised child, as usual. Fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, and ice cream. Sandor wondered if he’d eventually get fat like Robert. 

Joffrey immediately climbed onto Margery once they were in the backseat.

Sandor made every attempt to ignore the sights and sounds coming from the backseat. 

“Wouldn’t you love to know that you’re pregnant at the reception? Wouldn’t that be a _fantastic_ ‘fuck-you’ to Sansa? To think, she had the _nerve_ to believe she actually had a fair chance with me. You were the obvious winner.”

Sandor couldn’t even take offense for Sansa’s sake. He didn’t think Margery was feeling much like a winner at the moment. 

“I can’t wait to have your baby,” Margery answered, too quickly.

“Well, it won’t be for lack of trying,” Joffrey was settled in the seat and adjusting his pants. “That’s for sure.”

“I wish I knew now, but it’s too soon to tell,” Margery was pulling her dress down, shooting furtive glances toward Sandor, which he was doing his best to ignore. 

“When will you know?” Joffrey demanded.

“It should be about a week, darling. I should know then.”

“Good,” Joffrey replied. “The sooner, the better.”

“Oh, I agree,” Margery answered quietly. “The sooner, the better.”


	24. Chapter 24

“I just realized that I don’t know that much about you.”

Sandor rolled over to face Sansa. 

“There’s not much to know.”

“Humans are complex creatures. Even strong and silent types have a story.”

“I don’t. I was born, I grew up, I became a soldier and a guard. Then I met you. That’s the best part of my story.”

Sansa rolled over as well, and kissed Sandor.

“You won’t distract me by being sweet, you know.”

“I’m never sweet.”

“Yes you are, even if you don’t want to call it that. Stop changing the subject, please.”

“My wife, who wants to ask all the serious questions. This won’t go in your thesis will it?”

“I would never! I just want to know more about you.”

“You go first.”

“ _You_ go first. You already know all about me.”

“Not everything.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll go first. Once, when I was ten, I got out of bed to spy on a dinner party that my parents were having. I got very close to the stairs so that I could see the dining room, and I fell. I tumbled all the way down those stairs and flopped on the ground in my nightgown. With at least 20 strangers watching.” Sansa leaned back to gather his reaction. 

Most people laughed at that story. Sandor’s mouth quirked up just once. 

“That’s what you get for being nosy.”

“ _Sandor_! Aren’t you going to ask if I was hurt?”

“Were you?”

“Just my pride.”

“I knew you weren’t hurt, you know. You would have mentioned that in the beginning of the story. It would have started by you telling me about an injury you got at the age of ten.”

“So you’re well versed in psychological tactics? That’s good to know. See, this is what I mean. I want to know you better.”

Sandor chuckled. “I’m just observant, Little Bird.”

Sandor and Sansa were in her bedroom. Sansa had never had a boy in her bedroom. Well, not counting her brothers. It seemed fitting that her husband joined her here now.  


Jon and Arya had gone to the gym again. Sansa had decided that she’d had enough of the closet and she and Sandor had fled to the room. It was heavenly, making love and holding one another on a real bed again. 

“Tell me about your parents, Sandor.”

“Well, they’re dead. But I like to think that they would have been impressed that I managed to marry a woman such as yourself. Beauty and brains. They probably expected me wander the earth alone, forever.”

“What were they like?”

Sandor shifted on the bed. “It’s the past.”

“I know...I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Sandor. We don’t have to talk about this. Tell me about what you were like as a child.”

“I was a scarred up kid, these damn burn marks used to be a lot worse, you know. I was bigger than the others, like Gregor was. Not a lot of friends. A lot of kids tried to bully me, until I took care of it. After that, most kids just called me a freak and stayed away.”

Sansa curled into him like a cat, pressing a kiss on his cheek. 

“Kids are horrible. They also know absolutely nothing.”

Sandor felt a bit emboldened by her comforting actions.

“My father was an asshole. He never liked having kids underfoot. He wanted little versions of himself, which meant we were to act already grown up. My mother...she couldn’t stand up to him. She tried but he always put her in her place and took enjoyment from it, too. Gregor was already cruel, but my father encouraged it. He told everyone, after Gregor burned me, that my bedding caught fire while we were camping.”

Sansa huffed. “Did anyone believe that?”

“I have my doubts.”

Sansa ran soft hands up and down his back.

“We eventually had a sister. Gregor didn’t know what to think of her. It was the first time I’d ever seen him act human around something. But she cried, with colic. All the time. And Gregor was already a mad man. The crying seemed to enrage him. He took to leaving the house when she cried. But he’d go out and get into all sorts of trouble, so my father forbade him from leaving so often. One night, my mother woke us up screaming. She’d gone to check on the baby, and the baby wasn’t breathing. They rushed her to the hospital but it was too late. She had simply stopped breathing in her sleep, they said. But I’ll never forget the way Gregor had looked at me when we first hurried into the hall. He had looked at me and when our eyes met, I knew. I just knew he’d done something.”

Sansa looked up at him, horrified. 

“These are gruesome stories, little bird. I shouldn’t be telling them to you.”

“I’m glad you did, Sandor. Gods, all the horrors you had to live through...”

“It’s over now.”

Sansa wrapper herself around him again, giving him her warmth. 

“I used to think you were awful,” Sansa told him. “Sometimes I’d overhear the things you’d say and think, this man is cold. I didn’t know whether to feel pity or fear. Once at a dinner I overheard you tell Trant that you preferred being called ‘Dog’ because it was better than being called a pompous Commander. And that there was no such thing as an honorable soldier. That they were all awful. You said people only do what they do for their own glory, or power, or wealth. Nobody cared about anything more. And I remember wondering if that was true.”

“And now?” Sandor’s voice was rough.

“Now I know better.”

“You don’t know better,” Sandor scoffed. “You don’t know much at all. That’s why you need me.”

Sansa took her hands and slowly cupped Sandor’s face. Her thumbs gently ran over his cheekbones, as he stared at her. 

“You’re not the one who’s awful, Sandor. You’re honest. It’s the world that’s awful.”

Sandor clenched his jaw. He seemed to be feeling a riot of emotions.

Sansa pulled him down and kissed him heatedly. 

“I do need you,” she whispered. “And I’m starting to think that you need me, too.”

Sandor stared up at her helplessly as she climbed astride him. He was hard in moments, Sansa realized. 

Sansa relished the feeling of power and control, as she climbed upon one of the most fearsome men in Westeros. She guided him to her entrance, and he impaled himself in her with one smooth stroke. 

Sansa took a moment to adjust, then she pressed her hands on his broad chest as she began to ride him. 

Sandor kept his own hands by his sides, watching Sansa as she worked over him with slack-jawed pleasure. 

Sansa increased her tempo, her breasts swinging close to Sandor’s face. His eyes glazed over as he took her in. 

Sansa felt her release coming closer and closer, as she began to move faster. She closed her eyes and sat up straight, using her thighs to move. 

Sandor’s hands flew up to her hips and he helped her keep the pace that was giving them both what they needed. 

Sandor’s hand came up to find her mound. Then he parted the folds gently with his fingers, finding a little button of pleasure that he gently stroked with his thumb. 

The effect was shockingly immediate for Sansa. She nearly squealed as her release came upon her. All she could do was lean forward, resting her hands on Sandor’s chest to keep from falling over as she came. 

Sandor sat up and gently flipped her around so she was the one lying back. Still joined, he began to pump into her. 

Sansa clutched him as she rode wave after wave of blissful pleasure. Suddenly, Sandor gave a hoarse cry and jerked himself from her as he came. Sansa felt the release spill over her lower belly and thighs.

After cleaning them up, Sandor lay down beside her heavily. 

Sansa immediately snuggled into him. He accepted her readily with strong arms wrapped around her. She yawned delicately and rested her head in the crook of his neck. 

“Don’t let me fall asleep,” Sansa warned him. “Or else we’ll have some explaining to do.”

Sandor gently rolled out of bed and she heard him rifling through dresser drawers. 

“What are you doing?” Sansa asked him drowsily.

Sandor returned with a long sleep shirt. He helped her get it on, and laid back down beside her. 

“Just in case,” he told her in his soft rumble.

“Mmmmm” Sansa responded, repositioning herself against him. “Good thinking.”

Sandor stroked her hair, and Sansa didn’t even try to fight the sleep that overtook her. 

Sandor knew the minute she had fallen asleep. Her body was relaxed as she curled up against him like a trusting kitten. Her breath was soft and even. 

Sandor brushed a kiss over her temple. 

He felt more than a little shaken at the intensity of his feelings. It was as if a marching band had taken up residence in his brain. His chest was tight with a sweet, almost painful ache. 

He’d told her about the horrors from his childhood. Things he’d never told anyone before. And she had listened, and tried to comfort him. 

Sandor remembered the exact dinner she was talking about, the one where she’d overheard his conversation with Trant. It was almost a year ago. He’d notice Sansa arrive at Casterly Rock with her family and had fought to keep from staring at her. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. And so kind. She’d had a kind word for everyone, chirping out her courtesies like the little bird he’d deemed her. She even had taken the time to comfort Tyrion, when his family acted like pricks. And danced with him after dinner, in the ballroom. 

Sandor had barely been able to think straight that evening, watching her, while trying to not watch her. She was like something that had come down from the heavens. 

He remembered the conversation he’d had with Trant as well.

They’d been waiting on Joffrey to finish up in the bathroom. He’d taken a girl and some coke inside with him. 

Trant looked over at Sandor. 

“We should probably go in with him.”

“Fine,” Sandor had replied. “You go ahead.”

Trant smirked. “Nah.”

After a while, Trant poked his head in the door. 

“She’s got a nosebleed. I think it happened while they were fucking. I hope she doesn’t think Joffrey is the first-aid type.”

Sandor grunted. 

“Must be nice, to pull them in like that. If one doesn’t work, there’s another waiting to take their place. Even you must get plenty of action, Clegane.”

Sandor stared ahead, ignoring him.

“Come on, now. Women love the knight in shining armor gimmick.”

I’m nobody’s knight.”

“You are, actually. Joffrey’s.” Meryn chuckled.

“If you believe that anyone buys that shit, you’re no better than these empty-headed females,” Sandor had told him.

“So what, then? You’re his dog? Weren’t you a Commander in the military for...I don’t know, years?”

“I’d rather be called dog than a pompous Commander.”

“I don’t buy that. You’re too...honorable.”

“No such thing as an honorable soldier around here, Trant. Either you enjoy killing and violence, or you’re in it for the money and glory.”

“Perhaps I enjoy both.”

“Perhaps you do.”

“You don’t seem to care. I wonder why you even took this job?”

“Nobody cares, Trant. I do it because it’s what I’m good at.”

*********************

Sandor looked at his sleeping wife, remembering what she’d told him earlier. 

_ “You’re not the one who’s awful, Sandor. You’re honest. It’s the world that’s awful.” _

He wondered if that was true. And he knew she needed him. Did he need her too? 

Sandor wasn’t going to try to answer that tonight. He didn’t want to need her. But he was afraid it was too late. 

Sandor rose from the bed quietly and dressed. 

He went and stood outside the door, leaving it cracked slightly. 

After a while, Jon and the others crept back down the hall. 

“She’s sleeping,” Sandor informed them, ignoring Arya’s sharp eyes. 

“I guess she can go ahead and sleep there tonight. We’ll take turns on watch,” Jon answered.

“I’m taking a shower,” Arya announced. “Clegane, can I talk to you a moment?”

Sandor followed Arya down the hall to her own room. 

Gendry was right behind them.

“Gendry, it’s fine. I’m just going to tell him about Saturday.”

Gendry gave Sandor a fierce look, then stomped off, and left them alone.

Sandor turned to Arya. 

“I tell him most things. But I haven’t told him about you and Sansa.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. It just seems wrong to tell him. She’s my sister. And honestly, I figured it was a one-time thing. But you kept coming around like a lost dog, and Sansa is obviously into strays, so...”

“Did you have something to tell me?” Sandor interrupted her.

“So, the reception this weekend. Apparently the Starks are invited. All of us. Including Sansa. Especially Sansa.”

Sandor just looked at her.

“Oh, so you knew that. Of course you did. All right then, Clegane. Why? Why are they insisting that Sansa come?”

“Joffrey is insisting,” Sandor admitted. 

“That doesn’t surprise me. I bet Margery was not so insistent. But nobody gets to tell Joffrey the pig ‘no’, so here we are. I don’t like it, Clegane.”

“Maybe she can slip out early.”

“That’s true. Joffrey will probably be drunk and high, maybe he’ll forget about her.”

“I’ll be there,” Sandor reminded her.

“Yeah, well, no offense, but you work for the Lannisters. So I’m not looking to you for guidance here. I mean, you can’t compromise your position. They’d never let you get away with it.”

“I might work for the Lannisters, but I’d never let them harm Sansa.”

Arya sighed. “I guess that’s true. I mean, you’ve been pretty loyal so far. And there’s the matter of-“

Gendry sauntered back up. “I thought you were taking a shower.”

“I didn’t realize that you were on such timetable,” Arya answered. “Would _you_ like to shower first?”

“No.”

“Then give me five minutes! Geez, Gendry! What’s gotten into you?”

After Gendry sauntered away again, Sandor faced Arya with a frown.

“The matter of what?”

“You know what? Don’t worry about it. Another thing I’m not going to talk about. It’ll come out in its own time.”

Sandor scowled. “You better not be keeping anything imperative from me.”

“Oh, please. You and Sansa are the ones with all the secrets. I’m just starting to catch on, that’s all. Good night, Clegane. See you Saturday.”

Sandor watched as she shut the door behind her. 

Sandor nodded at Jon, Podrick and Gendry. 

Jon and Podrick nodded back. Gendry just glared. 

Sansa awoke the next morning to light from the windows.

Arya was asleep in the chair next to the windows. She was wearing pajamas and had dragged Sansa’s desk chair over, where her feet were propped up. 

Sansa glanced down at her nightshirt, in confusion, then remembered the night before. 

She flopped back down on the pillows with a sigh. 

Sandor...she thought. She missed him dreadfully. She was filled with regret, for falling asleep so quickly the night before. Today her father came home and she didn’t know when she’d get to spend time alone with Sandor again. 

Arya stirred in the chair, opening her eyes, which landed on Sansa. 

“Well, I fell asleep on watch. Don’t tell the others. They’d never let me live it down,” Arya said, sitting up with a wince. “Next time we’re going to sleep in my bed. My back is killing me.”

“You could have slept here with me, Arya. There’s plenty of room for two.”

“Uh-huh,” Arya said without conviction as Sansa got out of bed. 

Sansa noticed her shirt from the night before, with stains on it. She looked at it in confusion, until she realized what it was. Quickly she kicked it under her bed. 

“That,” Arya announced, standing up and stretching, “is exactly why I didn’t sleep there. No thank you. _My_ bed is reserved for sleeping only. Next time, we go there.”

Sansa felt herself blush. 

“So, did Sandor tell you about the reception?” Arya was stretching each muscle carefully. 

“Is it cancelled?” Sansa asked. “It should be.”

Arya blinked at her. 

“Is that all you two did last night?!” She hissed, motioning to the bed. 

“Arya, hush,” Sansa whispered. “We talked. Just not about Joffrey, _ugh.”_

Arya huffed. “The entire Stark family is invited to the reception. You, Sansa, are invited specifically. Cersei called up mom to make sure that every Stark was clear on that invite, including you.”

“Me?” Sansa asked. “Why me?”

“Apparently, Joffrey insists that you be there.”

“So he can enjoy my discomfort, I’m sure,” Sansa scowled. “Ill-mannered bully.”

“That’s probably the meanest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“Oh, I’m thinking plenty worse. You were right about him, Arya. He’s definitely a pig.”

“Wait,” Arya flopped back down onto the chair, looking up at Sansa. “What was that? I was what?”

Sansa sighed. “Arya, don’t be annoying.”

“I’m not, I’m just enjoying life’s simple pleasures. Sansa Stark said _I_ was right.” Arya smiled gleefully. 

“Okay, Arya. Don’t lose your head over it.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t. It’s just that I’m right so many times, but I never get credit. This is the first time it’s been said aloud. Anyway, I talked to Clegane last night. He said he knew that you’d been invited. And that he might work for the Lannisters, but he’d never let them hurt you. How sweet.”

“Sandor _knew_? And he didn’t _tell_ me?”

“Well, in his defense, you both had other things on your mind last night.”

“Arya, not now....I can’t _believe_ he didn’t tell me.”

“It’s not like he can get you out of it.”

“I know...but we’re not supposed to _keep_ things from each other.”

“Well, he’s not exactly the bestie best friend type, Sansa.”

“Why are you defending him?” Sansa fumed.

Arya cocked her head sideways. “What do you want me to say? He’s a dick? He did you wrong? I’m not one of your stupid friends, Sansa. I’m not going to judge your boyfriend because he isn’t perfect. I’m looking at the big picture. He took you away and hid you and kept you safe. He’s been risking it all to come here almost every night, risking our safety and his own. I think that means he cares about you a lot. If he didn’t tell you about Saturday, just wait. There might be a reason for it.”

Sansa looked at Arya suspiciously. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Arya threw up her hands. “I don’t know. I’m just saying, give him a chance. If he doesn’t tell you by tonight, I’ll beat his ass at the gym. Then we can watch movies and paint our nails and bitch about men.”

Sandor was following a frazzled Joffrey around his penthouse.

Despite his earlier insistence that the dining room was to be free of clutter, it was now filled with papers, people, and fabric. 

Margery was wearing a dress half sewn, as a gaggle of women fluttered around her, making last minute adjustments. 

“That dress better be ready by tomorrow. If it’s not, none of you will ever be able to find work in Westeros again,” Joffrey informed them.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Baratheon. It will be ready before the sun comes up,” the oldest one assured him.

Joffrey scowled but stood still as his tailor measured him.

“And you,” Joffrey shoved at the man with the tape measurer. “Do I not pay you enough? Why would you switch to such cheaply made fabric? If I wanted to look cheap, I’d go buy a tacky suit, straight off the rack. These shitty fabrics you’ve been using don’t fit properly.”

Sandor’s eyes went to Joffrey’s belly, where the coke and booze bloat was beginning to show in earnest.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Baratheon,” the tailor replied, jotting down measurements. “If there was a mistake made in the past, please rest assured that it will be rectified immediately.”

Joffrey rolled his eyes. “You’re the best in Westeros. Even I can admit that. That’s the only reason I haven’t tossed you out of here on your ass. Less talking, more working.”

Cersei was barking out orders to caterers and florists, who’d come to meet with them.

“Seating chart,” Joffrey snapped at Margery. “Did you take it to Casterly Rock? Yourself?”

“Yes, darling,” Margery said placidly. “I even made two extra copies. Everything is just as you wished.”

“You better hope it is,” Joffrey muttered darkly. 

The others in the room exchanged discreet glances before they hunkered back down to work.

Sandor had tried to think of a way to get Sansa out of the reception all day, but no idea he came up with sounded plausible. If he was going to convince Joffrey, it had to be good. Unfortunately, there was nothing he’d likely say to put Joffrey on any other path that wasn’t marked “Publicly Humiliate Sansa Stark”.

Sandor left that evening with a heavy heart. 

He called Sansa the moment he walked into his apartment.

“Hi,” he told her.

“Hi.”

“Did your father make it home?”

“Yes. He went to the funeral, now he’s home. I think he’ll probably sleep for twenty-four hours. He looks exhausted.”

“I guess I’ll just have to tell you over the phone. Joffrey invited your family to the reception. He insists that you be there as well. I tried to think of a way to get you out of it. I really did. It’s just that once he gets an idea inside his head, you have to come up with something bigger and better to replace it. Nothing I could come up with seemed to top his notion of you coming.”

“I know, Sandor. Arya told me.”

Sandor sighed. “I wanted to get you out of it.”

“I thought you might.”

“I’m sorry,” he told her.

“Sandor, it’s all right. She told me what else you said. That you might work for the Lannisters but you’d never let them hurt me.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“That’s what upset me more than anything, Sandor. You didn’t tell me. I supposed I didn’t make it easy on you, but still.”

“I know.”

“You told me now. Arya said you would.”

_Arya_ defended him? Sandor hid his surprise.

“Well, I probably should have mentioned it sooner so you could have used that college educated brain to help me think of an excuse.”

“My college educated brain can’t think of an excuse either. I guess I’ll have to just go and get it over with.”

“I’ll keep you safe, Sansa. They’re all afraid of me. Nobody would hurt you, or I’d kill them.”

“Sandor...please don’t do anything to jeopardize your own safety. I’ll be fine. Then afterward, we can finally put all this behind us. We have more important things to worry about.”

“We do?”

“Well, yes. We need to tell my parents about us, for starters. I don’t know about you, but I’m sick of sneaking around to see my own husband.”

“True. Fair enough, little bird. We’ll tell them after the reception. You pick the day.”

“I’d tell them now if I had my way, but I guess it’s not the best time,” Sansa sighed. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, little bird. Very much.”

“I’ve missed you all day.”

“Have you?”

“Yes. I keep thinking about last night, and...well. I tried to take care of things myself. It wasn’t the same, though.”

Sandor felt his pants grow uncomfortably tight. He sat down hard on his sofa. 

“Are you saying you...”

“Yes, twice. It wasn’t as good as you, though. Not even close.”

Sandor swallowed. “You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”

“No,” Sansa replied, and Sandor could hear the smile in her voice. “I don’t want you to back out on me.”

“There’s no chance of that,” he told her. “And that’s not just me thinking with my dick.”

Sansa laughed softly. “I better go. Call me tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

“Bye, Sandor.”

“Bye.”


	25. Chapter 25

Sansa decided that Podrick would be her “date” to the reception. 

When she asked him, Podrick looked floored. Then he blushed and stuttered something about making sure it was okay with Jon and Arya before he told Sansa yes. 

Sansa had laughed a little at that. 

“You’re going with me. Not them. Besides, it’s just as friends, right? You’d be doing me a huge favor.”

“You could have your pick,” Podrick told her. “Why me?”

Sansa shrugged, though her mind raced with things unsaid.

_Because I’m married and I can’t go with just anyone_ , she thought.

“BecauseI’d prefer to go with Podrick Payne. We’ll tag along with Gendry and Arya. Besides, when other girls see you with what they think is a date, it makes you _instantly_ more attractive to them. I don’t know why that is, I just know it’s true.”

Podrick turned a deeper shade of red. 

“All right, we’ll go together. What do I need to do?”

“Just dress up and show up. I’ll help you handle the rest.”

It took five hours, two wardrobe changes, several trips to the bathroom to wash off muddy direwolf prints that mysteriously kept appearing on Rickon, about three meltdowns, a stern lecture, and two family-sized vehicles, but the Starks finally made it to Casterly Rock on time for the reception. 

Sansa and Podrick followed Gendry and Arya inside. Podrick had offered Sansa his arm right before they walked in. Sansa almost told him he didn’t have to do that, but he’d looked so nervous and determined that she didn’t have the heart to refuse. She took his arm and they walked into the over-decorated dining area together. 

Flowers burst from every conceivable surface. Red, gold, and blue seemed to be the theme, showing up on the linens, and the wardrobe of the Lannisters and Tyrells. People were milling about all over, and Sansa hoped she would get lost in the crowd.

Sansa had to make more small talk than she liked. People seemed to be nearly titillated with the excitement of seeing the jilted love of Joffrey arriving at his reception. 

She did her best to keep a cool head, not wanting to give any of them the least scrap of gossip to carry along. 

Jon moved surreptitiously to the sidelines, where he began talking to a pretty redheaded girl whom Sansa didn’t recognize. 

“Who’s that?” Sansa asked Podrick in a low tone. “The girl Jon is talking to. I’ve never seen her before.”

Podrick waited a beat and discreetly looked over at Jon. 

“Ygritte Skjaldmaer,” Podrick said in a hushed tone. “She’s part of the team that Tormund Giantsbane leads. They’re archaeologists and weapons experts, from somewhere way up North. I didn’t know Joffrey would invite them to his reception. They’re not exactly...posh sort of people.”

“Maybe they crashed the party,” Sansa said playfully. 

Podrick let out a puff of laughter. “Maybe they did.”

Sansa and Podrick followed the procession that led them to the head table, where Joffrey and Margery sat, accepting well-wishes from guests. 

“I hate this so much,” Sansa whispered faintly to Podrick as they stepped closer and closer to Joffrey. “Not you, Podrick. Just... _this_.”

“I know,” Podrick murmured reassuringly. “It’s almost our turn. Then the worst will be over.”

Sansa sincerely hoped he was right. 

Sandor stood behind Joffrey, almost against the wall. He glanced at her once, his eyes lingering on her arm joined with Podrick’s, then looked away. 

Sansa knew he probably wasn’t pleased about that particular action, but she would have to explain herself later. Right now, she was playing a part. They all were.

Finally, she and Podrick took their turn before the couple. The room seemed to drop several decibels in noise as everyone watched. 

“Joffrey, Margery,” Sansa smiled, her years of practice in courtesies serving her. “My congratulations to you both. I hope you’ll be very happy for very many years to come.”

Margery accepted Sansa’s little speech with a demure smile and nod. 

Joffrey wasn’t about to let her off the hook so easily. 

“Bold of you to come,” he said, sipping his drink. “But I suppose you had to see for yourself what you were missing out on. You even brought a little friend. How nice.”

Sansa felt Podrick stiffen under her arm. She held onto her smile and simply waited. 

Joffrey looked around and laughed, waiting for others to acknowledge him. He got a few chuckles, and Sansa hoped that would be good enough for him. 

“No need to torture yourself,” Joffrey told her, turning to smile adoringly at Margery, who gave him a returning smirk. “Other fish in the sea, and all that.”

He waved Sansa on, as if she were presenting him with something unfavorable. 

Sansa meekly steered herself and Pordrick away from the table, thankful she had his arm to hold onto. She carried herself with perfect posture and tried not to run away.

As soon as they were safely away, Sansa dropped her pretense and started planning their escape. 

“He’s got some nerve,” Podrick grumbled. “As if you _wanted_ to be here.”

“Joffrey has nothing _but_ audacity,” Sansa murmured to him. “I’m trying to figure out how to slip away without being noticed.”

“We just leave,” Podrick told her in surprise. “It’s really quite simple.”

Sansa laughed. “Why didn’t I think of that? Let’s just walk out. Oh wait, I didn’t drive. Did you?”

“Um,” Podrick answered uncomfortably. “No. No, I did not.”

“Exactly,” Sansa returned. “So, we’re stuck here.”

She blew out a breath. 

“I’m sorry, Podrick. I shouldn’t be snippy with you. Let’s get a drink.”

The two made their way to the open bar, where they ordered drinks from a young bartender who appeared to be making eyes at Myrcella Baratheon. 

Sansa drained her drink, not even minding that the younger man had made hers so strong. 

“He must be new,” Sansa remarked to Podrick. “This tastes like a drink made by a fraternity guy. Not that _I’ll_ be complaining about strong drinks this evening.”

Podrick drained his own glass with a grimace. 

The sound of clinking brought everyone’s attention to the Joffrey and Margery. 

“I’d like to propose a toast,” Joffrey stood with a broad smile. “A traditional toast, for me and my bride to share.”

A large goblet of wine was brought to the table by a waiter. 

“To my wife, a true lady and the light of my life. May this union bring us joy and a happiness for many days to come.”

Margery beamed at Joffrey and stood to join him. He handed her the goblet. She  took a delicate sip and returned it to her husband. 

Joffrey took a hearty drink and everyone applauded. 

Sansa sighed heavily, setting her drink on a table. 

Suddenly, Joffrey let out a choking gasp.

“Joffrey?” Margery turned to him in alarm. 

Joffrey sputtered, his face growing red. Then purple. He clutched at Margery’s arm and began to gasp, as though he was unable to breathe. 

“ _Joffrey!”_

Cersei dropped her own drink and raced to her son’s side, shoving Margery out of the way.

“Somebody come help!” Margery cried as she stumbled back, looking around the room with wild eyes.

Maester Pycelle, Cersei’s personal physician, raced over as quickly as he was able.

“I’ve called an ambulance,” he announced, bending over Joffrey. Cersei shrieked beside him.

Joffrey let out one last awful, strangled gasp, then stilled. 

Everyone stared in horror. 

“Joffrey!” Cersei let out a keening cry of agony. 

The paramedics arrived, along with guards.

Joffrey was taken out on a stretcher, accompanied by a weeping Cersei.

“Oh my gods,” Podrick whispered. 

Sansa looked at Margery, who was being fussed over by her grandmother. Olenna was checking Margery over, taking a handkerchief from her dress and wiping Margery’s lips. Then she examined Margery all over, turning her head side to side. 

Sansa met Margery’s eyes. 

Margery was the first to look away.

Sandor had left with the paramedics, then returned with even more guards.  


Without warning, the guards began to fall upon various people. The waiter that brought Joffrey the wine, an older distinguished looking man who looked outraged, was handcuffed. Then young bartender, who looked about to cry, as a couple of guards dragged him away. 

And finally, Margery, who was swarmed by guards.   


“What in the seven hells do you think you’re doing? Release her, you brutes! Has she not been through _enough_?!” Olenna tried to pull a guard off Margery, who look terrified.   
  


Loras grabbed his grandmother and tugged her away.   
  


“We have to let them take her, Grandmother, just for now,” Loras put a comforting arm around Olenna and over her head gave Margery a look.   
  


Margery stopped resisting and let the guards lead her away.   
  


Sandor found Sansa.   
  


“Go with your family. I’ll call you when I can,” he hissed. Then he rejoined the guards.

Sansa gripped Podrick by the arm and hurried to find her parents.   
  


Catelyn took Sansa by the hands.   
  


”How awful,” Catelyn nearly wailed as they watched chaos erupt all around them.   
  


The Starks waited until Ned cleared them with a guard before they departed from Casterly Rock.   
  


Everyone was silent during the ride, at first.

”Is Joffrey dead?” Rickon asked.  
  


“Yes,” Bran answered.   
  


“Bran, we don’t know that,” Catelyn told him gently.

”I do,” he answered calmly.

The silence resumed.

Sansa wished herself in the other car at that moment.

At home, it took some time to settle down. It was decided that Podrick and Gendry would stay the night at the Stark house, just in case.

”That way you’ll be accounted for if any other fingers start to point,” Ned told them. “To think they arrested Margery...we need to stay together tonight.”

Sansa waited until everyone else was ready to turn in before she headed upstairs.   
  


Her phone had yet to ring. It was getting _so_ late. Poor Sandor. She couldn’t imagine being in his position tonight.

Arya had lingered to talk to their mother. Then she came barreling up the stairs.   
  


“Here’s the plan,” she told Sansa, shoving her into the bedroom. “I’m giving Podrick and Gendry my bedroom, and staying with you.”

”Okay, Arya,” Sansa scowled. “You didn’t have to tackle me over that information.”

”I’m not finished,” Arya told her impatiently. “After a while, Podrick and I will switch. He’s going to come in here with you, and I’ll go in there with Gendry.”

”Arya, no! Have you completely lost your mind?”

“ _Seriously_ , Sansa? I’ve covered for you more than once so you could get your jollies with Shrek. Now you want to act outraged over me finally getting some privacy with _my_ boyfriend?”

”Arya, Mom and Dad are home. Can you imagine the hells that will be unleashed if they catch you?”

”So I don’t get caught,” Arya shrugged. “And did I mention, you owe me?”

Sansa sighed.   
  


“Fine! Just don’t be stupid about it.”

”Thanks, sis,” Arya told her. “I’m getting the cots.”

A pair of cots, leftover from Ned’s military days, were each set up in Sansa and Arya’s room.   
  


Catelyn made sure the boys were settled in Arya’s room before she came into Sansa’s room to say goodnight.

”Sleep well, girls,” she told them, coming around to kiss their cheeks.   
  


The girls called good night and I-Love-You after Catelyn as she shut the door behind her.

“Does Gendry know about your brilliant plan?”

”Not yet,” Arya replied, scrolling through her phone. “He’d never go for it. So I’m going to tell him I forgot to get something from my room in about half an hour. Then I’ll just kick Podrick out and lock the door. Podrick will have no choice but to come here. I’ll make sure he knows where to go.”

Sansa groaned and threw her pillow over her head.

“It’s not going to be that bad,” Arya told her. “Besides, we know that Podrick will be safe from you tonight. Has Sandor called?”

”Not yet”, Sansa replied.

”Well, he’s probably been held up. What a night, huh?”

”It’s been insane. What do you think happened?”

“It’s hard to say, you know? Joffrey drank so heavily and did so many drugs, it could be a heart attack. Other people seem to think he was poisoned apparently.”

”Poisoned?”

”Yeah, we were standing near Roose Bolton and his wife, Walda. He said it looked like poison. Walda looked freaked out. She’s pregnant.”

”Oh, is she? I didn’t know that. She’s so much younger than Roose.”

“Well, apparently he’s not that old yet.”

”Guess not.”

Sansa tried to stay awake, but fell asleep holding her phone, waiting for Sandor’s call.


	26. Chapter 26

Sansa woke to her phone buzzing. 

She sat straight up in bed, the events of the prior evening crashing upon her. 

“Hello,” she whispered.

“Sansa.”

“Sandor! I’ve been worried about you. What time is it?”

“It’s after four in the morning. I just got home. And Joffrey’s dead.”

Sansa dropped her phone. It slid off the bed and landed with a smack onto the cot beside her.

“Ouch,” a male voice grumbled from beneath the pillows and blankets. 

Sansa retrieved her phone and put it back up to her ear breathlessly. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I dropped my phone.”

“Who was that?” Sandor demanded.

“Who? Oh, I think it’s Podrick, actually. Long story.”

“What is he doing sleeping so close to you?”

Sansa fought a smile at the jealous tone in Sandor’s voice. 

“Not what you think. He and Gendry stayed over. Arya took advantage of our sleeping arrangements to switch places with Podrick and spend some...quality time with Gendry.”

“You’re going to give him ideas,” Sandor grumbled. “First he’s your date, then he’s sleeping in your room? He’s going to make a move on you. Then I’ll have to hurt him.”

“Not likely,” Sansa hissed, eager to change the subject. “What happened, by the way?”

“The examiner still has to do an autopsy, but the doctors think Joffrey was poisoned.”

“Oh, _gods.”_

“They have to trace it, and that’s been the worst part. Everyone that had contact with Joffrey within the past twenty-four hours has been on the chopping block.”

“Did they arrest you?”

“They took me in for questioning. It didn’t last long. They realized that I had nothing to gain by poisoning my employer.”

“Oh, Sandor. You must be exhausted.”

“I’ll be fine. I just wanted to let you know before I try to get some sleep.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“I guess I can’t tell you much else with Podrick Fucking Payne sleeping beside you.”

“He’s not beside me. He’s in a cot beside my bed.”

“Still too close.”

“Well, thankfully Arya thought of the cot arrangement. Otherwise you’d be right.”

“I miss you.”

Sansa felt her heart give a little flutter. 

“Me too,” she whispered.

“I’m going to get some sleep, Little Bird. Is tomorrow the big day?”

“The big day...? Oh. You want to...tomorrow?”

“Do you want to wait?”

“No. I mean, I do, but I also want to get the news over with. I’m ready.”

“All right.” Sandor paused. 

“I’ll invite you to dinner,” Sansa suggested. 

“Sounds like a date.”

“It is,” Sansa felt herself smile. “A permanent one.”

After she and Sandor ended their phone call, Sansa laid her phone on the bedside table. 

Podrick popped up from beneath the blankets he was buried under. 

“Oh my gods,” he whispered. “You and Clegane?”

“What?”

“You and Clegane, Sansa? What? _When_?”

Sansa’s first instinct was to deny it, then she realized that in about 12 hours everyone would know the truth anyway.

“It’s been a few weeks now, I guess. It just kind of happened. And I know it’s...unexpected.”

“Not really,” Podrick answered. “I mean, it wouldn’t have been my first guess, true enough. But I can see it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, he’s like the brave knight in a story, you know? One with a twist, but still a knight. And you fit the fair maiden type. It works.”

“Don’t let him hear you call him a knight.”

“Don’t tell him I _called_ him a knight.”

“I won’t,” Sansa laughed softly. “We want to tell my family about us tomorrow. I’m going to invite him to dinner.”

“I’m glad you told me.” Podrick laid back down. 

“I’m glad to tell someone. Arya knows. But she doesn’t know everything.”

“Everything...? Oh. _Oh..._ are you...pregnant?”

“No! It’s nothing like that. It’s that...well, we got married.”

Podrick sat up and stared at her. 

“You got married. You married Sandor Clegane.”

“Yes.”

“Really and truly married? Like in a legally binding manner?”

“Yes.”

Podrick fell back on the cot. 

“Seven hells. I almost want to stay and see what happens.”

“Feel free to. Maybe they won’t crucify me if we have guests.”

“I suppose I could. I don’t want your murder on my conscience.”

“You’re a good man, Podrick.”

“I try.”

A few hours later, Arya slipped in, and woke Podrick to go back to her room. 

“No sleep to be had,” he grumbled as he grabbed his pillow and left the room quietly.

“What’s his deal?” Arya settled back into the cot. 

“I got a phone call last night. Well, this morning. Early.”

“Ah. Clegane?”

“Yes. Joffrey is dead.”

Arya’s eyes widened. 

“Shit.”

“It seems that the medical team are leaning toward poisoning. They still need an autopsy, but that’s what they suspect as of now. 

“Holy shit.”

“I still can’t believe it. It doesn’t even seem real.”

“I know I despised Joffrey The Pig, but that was a gruesome death.”

“It was,” Sansa agreed. She thought about Margery, and the odd way Loras had looked at his sister. Then she resolved to put it out of her mind.

“So,” Sansa told Arya. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Arya sat up. “You’re not going to tell me that you’re pregnant are you?”

“ _No_! Why is that always the conclusion that people draw?”

“Well, what would you think?”

“I’m _not_ pregnant, Arya.”

“What then?”

“It’s about me and Sandor. We got married.”

Arya didn’t look shocked. 

“When?”

“A little over a week ago.”

“Hmm,” Arya replied. “That explains the ring.”

“The ring? What ring?”

“The ring in your wallet.”

“Arya! You little snoop! Why were you in my wallet?”

“I was actually checking to make sure you were using protection, which I’m still not sure whether you are or not. That’s where the pregnancy guess came from. But the ring... _now_ that makes sense.”

“I can’t believe you went through my things.”

“ _I_ can’t believe you’re not using protection. You do know how babies are made, don’t you?”

“We’re being careful.”

“The pull-out method, huh? Well, that’s not always effective. I know you can’t exactly get on any birth control at the moment, but he can go to the store and buy a pack of condoms.”

“I really don’t feel comfortable discussing my sex life with you, Arya.”

“Fair enough.”

“Hold on, though. What do you and Gendry use?”

“Condoms. Mom would flip shit if she ever caught me with birth control.”

“You’re over the age of 18 now. Technically an adult. Maybe she wouldn’t.”

“You know she would. I’m not taking any chances.”

Sansa sighed. “I’m inviting Sandor to dinner tonight. We’re going to tell mom and dad then.”

“Oh, gods. That’s going to be...gods.”

“I know.”

Sansa slept very little after that. She finally got up and showered, and went downstairs. 

Catelyn was already up and dressed as well, drinking a cup of coffee. 

“Good morning,” she told Sansa, smiling gently over her mug. 

“Good morning”, Sansa replied. She poured herself a cup of coffee as well. 

She sat across from her mother, looking out the large windows as they watched the sun rise over Winterfell. 

“What are your plans for the day, sweetie? I was thinking we could do a roast this evening. Since we have guests. It might be nice.”

“That actually sounds perfect. I was going to suggest the same thing, actually.”

“I’ll have Nan pick up the things we need.”

“I was thinking, would it be all right if I invited Sandor Clegane over for dinner?”

Catelyn sipped her coffee. “Sandor Clegane? I’m sure that would be fine, yes. If he doesn’t have other plans.”

“I’ll check to see if he’s free,” Sansa hoped her anxiousness didn’t show on her face. 

Sansa finished her coffee and left her mother to plan for the day. 

She decided she needed to get out of the house, despite the excitement of the previous day. Sansa didn’t want to stay home and risk tripping up and blurting out the truth before Sandor arrived tonight. 

She hurried upstairs and found Arya and Gendry locked in an embrace in her room.

“Gross, guys! Get a room. _Not_ mine,” she added quickly before Arya could open her mouth.

“Podrick is my room getting dressed. He’s mad that he had to use fruity smelling stuff in the shower,” Arya told Sansa, flopping down on the bed. 

Gendry looked embarrassed. 

“Don’t worry, Gendry. After tonight, we’ll be able to get away with almost anything. Sansa is going to tell mom and dad about Sandor tonight,” Arya reassured her boyfriend, while Sansa pulled out her makeup and switched on her curling iron.

“Sandor?” Gendry looked confused. “What about Sandor?”

“Oh, Gendry,” Arya chuckled. “It’s gonna be a shit show.”

“I’m confused,” Gendry answered. “What’s going on?”

“Sandor and Sansa are...you know.”

“No, I don’t....wait. _Really?!_ ”

“Surprised? I know, I was too.”

Gendry shook his head. 

  
“I did _not_ see that one coming. Sansa and Sandor Clegane. Wow.”

“That’s not the best part,” Arya told him eagerly. “Is it Sansa?”

“I hope you’re enjoying this, Arya,” Sansa answered frostily, meeting her sister’s eyes in the mirror.

“Oh, come on Sansa. You’re the golden daughter. Of course I’m enjoying this.”

Sansa tried to ignore Arya, as she continued to apply her makeup. 

“They’re married,” Arya told Gendry. 

“No,” Gendry sat down on the bed beside Arya. 

“Yup,” Arya replied. 

“I thought you were going to tell me Sansa was...you know. Um...pregnant.”

Sansa sighed loudly. She had finished her makeup and moved on to her hair.

“Nope, just married.”

“Who’s married?” A voice came from the doorway. 

Everyone jumped and turned to face Ned, who stood quietly in Sansa’s doorway.

“Oh...we were just talking about Margery and Joffrey. Just married and then this happens. It’s really awful,” Arya answered quickly.

“It is,” Ned said in agreement. “A terrible tragedy for a newlywed couple.”

He looked pointedly at Gendry, who hopped off Sansa’s bed and moved toward the door. 

“I’m going to see if Podrick is ready,” Gendry announced. He smiled and nodded as he squeezed past Ned and hurried down the hall.

“Arya, you know we don’t allow Gendry in the bedrooms. We made an exception for last night, but it’s daytime now. He needs to stay downstairs, unless he needs the shower. Which he can do. Alone.”

“I know dad, I’m sorry. We were just talking. I’ll make sure he stays downstairs.”

Ned nodded and turned to Sansa. 

“Your mother asked that you pick up the wine for tonight. We’re having guests, apparently. Did she mention Sandor Clegane? I’m not sure I heard her correctly. Anyway, if you don’t mind, she asks that it’s here by three. She’s doing a roast,” Ned sighed. “You know how she gets when she’s doing a roast.”

“I’ll get it,” Sansa reassured him.

“Thank you,” Ned answered. “Well, I’m going to meet with Tywin. Cersei is...particularly high strung at the moment, but, it’s to be expected. Tywin needs me to come help him with paperwork before Stannis sticks his pointy nose where it doesn’t belong again.”

Arya snorted. “Good luck, dad. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Thank you,” Ned answered. “I just try to keep in mind that I’ve got a loving family at home. I’ve got two wonderful daughters. A tragedy like this makes a man thankful for what he has.”

He patted the door frame and left the two alone.

Sansa feel sick with guilt. 

“I’m beginning to feel sorry for you, now,” Arya informed her quietly. “I should have saved the good luck for you.”


	27. Chapter 27

There was a lot of awkward pauses around the dinner table that evening.

Sansa chewed her roast carefully, intent on her meal. 

Sandor _had_ tried to make a good impression.   


He’d awkwardly complimented Catelyn on dinner. He’d brought flowers and a bottle of good red wine. He ate everything on his plate, and had agreed when Catelyn offered seconds. 

“I make so much, you know. With the boys, it seemed like I never made enough. I’m still in the habit of preparing too much food,” Catelyn smiled at Sandor while he chewed.

Sandor nodded, his mouth full. 

“Mom, Dad,” Sansa began. “I need to talk to you about something important. It’s why I asked Sandor to dinner this evening, actually.”

Arya shot up out of her seat.

“I think that’s our cue to leave,” she told the others. 

“I’m not quite finished,” Podrick answered.   


He went silent after a quelling look from Arya. 

“Bran, Rickon, let’s go take the dogs out.”

“We just took them out before dinner,” Rickon protested. 

Bran looked concerned. “Come on, Rickon. Shaggy Dog looks like he needs to run.”

“All right,” Rickon sighed. 

After everyone left, it was just Sansa, her parents and Sandor. 

“What was that about? Sansa? What’s going on?” Catelyn exchanged a bewildered look with Ned.

Sansa drew in a breath. 

“There’s no easy way to come out and say this, but here it is. Okay, that makes it sound like I’ve done something wrong, but I actually haven’t. Well, you might think it’s wrong, but honestly it’s a very sound decision, if you give it enough time to ruminate in your mind, and-“

“Sansa,” Ned interrupted her rambling quietly. “What is it?”

“Right. Okay well, the thing is...I’m married.”

Her parents stared at her, mouths agape. 

“Well, I’m not the only one who’s married, I mean, it does take two to make a marriage. I’m married to Sandor. Sandor and I got married last week.”

Catelyn looked at her daughter in astonishment. 

  
Then she burst out laughing. 

“Oh, Sansa,” Catelyn chuckled after a moment, reaching for her wine. “You had me for a moment. Sandor, did you know she was going to do this?”

“Catelyn,” Ned met Sandor’s eyes and lingered there.

“Oh, Ned, don’t be silly. Sansa was just playing a little joke.” 

Ned stared at Sandor, his jaw beginning to pulse.

“You bastard,” he hissed. 

“Ned!” Catelyn was horrified. “Sandor please excuse my husband, he’s...”

She trailed off, looking at Sansa’s now teary-eyed expression and Sandor’s serious one.

Then, Sansa pulled the marriage certificate and ring out of her purse with trembling hands.

“Oh, gods,” Catelyn whispered in a strangled gasp. 

Sandor met Ned and Catelyn’s eyes evenly, as if waiting for the abuse he knew was coming.

“We trusted you!” Ned shouted. “We trusted you with the care of our daughter, and this is our thanks?! You took advantage of our child and wed her, a marriage that you know we’d never approve of, so of course you hastened to do it in secrecy. You sorry son of a bitch. I ought to run you through with the carving knife. I ought to beat you bloody.”

Ned stood up so fast his chair fell over behind him. 

“You’re despicable! Wait until your employers find out what you’ve been up to behind their backs! You’ll never work again, you miserable bastard, I’m calling Tywin-“

“Cersei knows,” Sandor interrupted calmly.

Every eye turned to look at him.

“What?” Sansa seemed to drain of all color.

“Cersei knows. She found out right after it happened. She even showed me a copy of the marriage certificate.”

Sansa seemed to go through a spectrum of emotions. She looked stunned, then concerned, and then almost relieved.

“That’s one worry out of the way,” she finally said. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Catelyn spoke with unnatural calm. “None of this matters. The marriage can be annulled, and it will be as if none of this happened.”

“ _Mom_ ,” Sansa said in an anguished tone.

“Sansa, darling. Marriage isn’t a fling. It’s a lifetime commitment. I didn’t raise you to lose your head over the first man you came in close contact with. I know that it may have seemed right at the time, but darling, you aren’t obligated to return any favors to Sandor for protecting you.”

Sansa looked ready to sob, but held her ground. 

“I knew this would be difficult for you all to accept. And I’m sorry to spring it on you like this. It wasn’t my intention-“

“Because you’re not thinking clearly, Sansa. This is obviously a mistake you made due to haste and poor judgment on everyone’s part. However, it can be rectified.”

“This is not a mistake,” Sansa couldn’t stop the tears streaming from her eyes. “A mistake would have been to let you push me into a marriage with Joffrey.”

“Sansa! Have some respect.”

“Joffrey was cruel, Mom. He tried twice to rape me in the backseat of his car. He shoved me in the pool and said awful things to me. I would have died a slow death in that marriage. I didn’t even have the courage to tell you about any of that. But I’m glad I had to go through those horrible things. Because if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have met Sandor. And I wouldn’t have known what it was like to be respected by another man. He’s a good man, a kind man. He cares about me, he actually cares about _me_ , as a person.”

“Sansa,” Ned beseeched her. “Let’s try to look at this from a reasonable standpoint.”

“I’ve had nothing but time to think,” Sansa told him. “For the last week, all I’ve done is think. And I know in my heart that this is right. It just feels right.”

“You don’t know anything!” Ned told her. “You’re hardly more than a child. You’re _my_ child. This world is cold and cruel, Sansa. You can’t even begin to fathom how bad things can be. Yes, Sandor has protected you and helped keep you safe, but it takes more than brute strength to make it in this world. It takes _much_ more.”

Sansa looked at him sadly. 

Ned put his head in his hands. 

“You’ve broken my heart, Sansa,” he told her in a muffled, choked voice.

Sansa grabbed her napkin off the table to dab at her streaming eyes. 

“I didn’t mean to,” she could barely get the words out. “And I’m sorry for that.”

She stood, and immediately Sandor stood as well.

“Where are you going?” Catelyn demanded. 

“I need to...let everyone calm down for a while.” Sansa was a mess, crying while trying to stay composed enough to finish the conversation. “I love you both. Nothing will ever change that. But I’m not going to annul our marriage. I care for Sandor, too. I hope in time you can accept that.”

Sansa turned to flee from the room, Sandor right behind her. 

She hurried out the front door, and found Sandor’s car. 

“Can we get out of here?” Sansa asked him.

“Let’s go,” he answered, opening the passenger door for her.

They drove to Sandor’s apartment. 

“I’m sorry,” Sansa told him once she could stop weeping. “I’m so sorry for the things they said.”

“I expected worse, actually.”

“Sandor, you didn’t deserve to be treated like a criminal.”

“If I had a daughter that was the apple of my eye, and she came home to tell _me_ that she married a great hulking brute such as myself, I’d have ran that man through with the carving knife, no doubt.”

“You’re not a brute, Sandor.”

“I am. And yes, you’re too good for the likes of me. Those are just the facts. Like I said, I expected worse.”

Sansa shook her head stubbornly. “You deserve so much more, Sandor.”

Sandor took her hand and gently rubbed his thumb across her fingers. 

Sansa instantly felt herself calm at his touch. 

“Then again, if I knew how much the great hulking brute cared for the apple of my eye, I might not kill him. Beat him bloody, maybe. I might let him live.”

Sansa scooted over in the seat to rest against Sandor. He put his arm around her and held her as he drove.

“Do you think they’ll ever come around?” Sansa asked him. 

“I hope so,” Sandor replied. “For your sake more than mine.”

“If they took the time to get to know you, they’d understand. They’d know how perfect you are. They’d know where I was coming from.”

“I’m not saying to give up on your fantasy, Little Bird, but I wouldn’t hold my breath for that to happen.”

“It could happen, Sandor. We just have to stand our ground.”

“All right.”

“You’re just trying to appease me.”

“I want you to be happy, Sansa. Whatever it takes to make that happen, that’s what I want.”

Sansa nuzzled her husband, kissing his jaw. The texture of his scars was barely noticeable to her as she kissed from his chin to his earlobe. 

“See, you say things like that and I wonder how they could _not_ adore you,” Sansa murmured.

“Are you trying to appease me, now?”

“No, just being honest,” Sansa answered him. “And now I’m in a hurry to get somewhere that I can show you how worthy of adoration you really are.”

They pulled into Sandor’s parking garage and hurried to his apartment. 

“Wait,” Sandor broke off the deep kiss Sansa was in the process of giving him.

“What?”

Sandor lifted her up without warning in his arms. 

Sansa giggled as he unlocked the door and carried her inside. 

“I’ve always wanted to try that,” Sandor locked the door behind him and tossed his keys onto the small table beside his door.

“Was that you carrying me across the threshold?”

“I guess so.”

Sansa waited until he lowered her to the ground. Then she took a look around the apartment. 

“Not much to see,” Sandor told her self-consciously. “There’s never been any reason for me to have anything bigger than this.”

“It’s so clean,” Sansa told him. “I didn’t know a man could be this clean. It’s very attractive.”

A smile tugged at Sandor’s lips. 

“What you do have here is nice, Sandor. Your furniture is very nice. I’m impressed. I bet the other girls you’ve had here were impressed.”

Sandor’s smile became full-fledged. 

“I’m not in the habit of bringing anyone home with me, Little Bird.”

“But you have before.” Sansa couldn’t keep the petulant tone out of her voice. 

Sandor stepped closer to her. 

“The last time I took a girl home,” he began, ignoring her hurt look, “was when I lived on base in Blackwater. You probably wouldn’t have looked at me twice then. Had I known what awaited me in the future, I’d have lived like a monk until now.”

Sansa pouted. She couldn’t help it. 

“I can’t stand the thought of another girl touching you,” Sansa told him sulkily. “I know that isn’t fair. But I’ve never been with anyone else, and you have.”

Sandor came toward her slowly, and gently pulled her to him. 

“There’s never been anyone else,” he told her.

Sansa blinked up at him. “What?”

“I mean, there has never been anyone else that I was even remotely serious about. Just you.”

Sansa still frowned. 

“Nobody but me has ever been in that bed,” Sandor leaned down to kiss Sansa on the cheek.

Sansa started to thaw a little. 

“And nobody else has ever had my last name before,” Sandor whispered in her ear, making her shiver. 

Sansa leaned into him. 

“I’m trying to _not_ be jealous, you know.”

“I don’t mind it. I don’t think anyone has ever been jealous over me. I rather enjoy it, Little Bird.”

“Well, what if I bring it up at inopportune times? You might not like it so much then.”

“I think I can learn to tolerate it.”

Sansa sighed. “You’re too sweet, Sandor. I can’t even feel jealousy around you properly.”

“That’s a good thing.”

“I guess.”

“And I’m not sweet, Little Bird.”

“You are,” Sansa smiled up at him. “But I’ll keep that between me and you. Were you sweet to other girls?”

“Not really, no.”

“Mmm, so I get the sweet Sandor. I can live with that.”

“Can you?”

“It definitely helps.”

Sandor buried his face in her neck.

“Enough talking,” Sansa agreed. 

Arya had watched as Sansa had left the house with Sandor. It apparently had not gone well. 

It was nearly half an hour before she deemed it safe for them to return into house. 

Catelyn and Ned were deep in a private conversation at the dining room table. Arya tried to sneak past them, but unfortunately for her, by the time Rickon, Bran, Gendry and Podrick has thundered past, attention had been drawn their way and Arya was in the line of fire.

“Arya? Come here please,” Catelyn called.

“ _Shit_ ,” Arya murmured unhappily under her breath. 

Gendry gave her a sympathetic look as he watched her march slowly back into the dining room. 

“Have a seat,” Ned told her. 

Arya sat across from her parents, cursing Sansa for running out and leaving her to deal with the fallout.

“So, I gather that what we heard from your sister tonight isn’t exactly news to you.” Catelyn stared across the table at her youngest daughter. 

“I guess that depends on what you heard,” Arya answered carefully.

“I’m in no mood for any games tonight, Arya, so I need you to be upfront and honest with me. Please.”

“All right,” Arya muttered unhappily. 

“Were you aware that Sansa and Sandor Clegane had gotten married?”

“Not until this morning.”

“Did you aide and assist Sansa and Sandor in seeing one another under this roof?”

“This feels like an interrogation,” Arya complained. “But if I’m going to be honest, yes. At least three times.”

“Why, Arya?” Ned asked this question. “Why would you help Sansa do something that could potentially ruin her future?”

“I wouldn’t,” Arya said slowly. 

“Arya,” Catelyn tried. “Do you really and truly think that Sansa and Sandor are well suited to one another? It would almost seem like you took advantage of the situation yourself, if I didn’t know better.”

“I wouldn’t have ever pictured the two of them together at first,” Arya told her mother. “But after actually seeing them together, and realizing how happy he makes Sansa, it kind of makes sense. Sandor isn’t a bad guy, you know. Not really.”

“Oh, _Arya_. Not you, too. You all barely know this man.”

“I’ve been around him for years. At the gym, at all the stupid parties. I listen to people and the guys at the gym. I’ve seen and heard some stuff that would blow your mind. But nothing ever about Sandor.” 

“That’s all well and good, Arya, but that doesn’t mean you _know_ him.”

“Well, then, I can get to know him. I’m trying to give him a chance. Sansa isn’t the type to do anything crazy, is she? This is way out of character for her. She’s always so careful and worried about doing the socially correct thing. Right?”

“Usually, yes.”

“Well, then, maybe we ought to give her a little bit of credit. She’s close to graduating college and this is the first crazy thing that she’s ever done. And she seems so sure about this. Maybe we should give it a chance.”

“I didn’t ask you for a lecture, Arya.”

“No, but you’re only going to drive Sansa away if you fight her on this. And that’s something that nobody wants. Especially her. She’s so worried about pleasing you all. I mean, she was going to marry Joffrey Baratheon just to make you happy. That’s real love.”

“All right, Arya. That’s enough.”

“Okay,” Arya replied as she stood. 

“Not so fast, Arya. You know the house rules and you directly disobeyed them.”

“But mom, they’re married. I didn’t think the rules applied to a married couple.”

“You said yourself that you didn’t know they were married until this morning.”

“I know,” Arya sighed. “But there was just this...vibe between the two of them. Like, I should have known they had gotten married. I felt it, but couldn’t see it.”

“Well, I’m glad that your father and I don’t base things on _vibes_. Having said that, I think it might be time for Gendry and Podrick to leave. We are in the midst of a family drama, here. Also, you’re not allowed to see Gendry until this is resolved. Maybe next time, you’ll think twice about treating our home like a fraternity house.”

Arya tried not to roll her eyes. “Fine.”

“You can go now.”

Arya trudged out of the room and into the den. 

Gendry watched her with wide eyes. 

“Am I banished?”

“For now, yes. I think they’d banish _me_ if I wasn’t their own flesh and blood.”

“Damn,” Gendry grumbled. “Come on, Pod.”

“I’ll call you later,” Arya hissed as he walked past her.

“Love you.”

“Love you more.”


	28. Chapter 28

Sansa woke up from her slumber to daylight and birds chirping. She smiled and snuggled into the warmth beside her. 

Sandor rolled over and put one huge arm around her. She sighed and wiggled even closer, feeling perfectly content. 

For about five seconds.

Suddenly, yesterday’s events came crashing down around her. 

Sansa sat up, ignoring her naked state. 

“What’s wrong?” Sandor murmured. 

“I’m just replaying yesterday in my mind,” Sansa groaned and rubbed her face with her hands. 

“Don’t do that,” Sandor told her.   


A sound from the bedside table distracted Sansa. She leaned over to check her phone. 

“I have a missed call from Margery,” she said, frowning. “ _Margery_? That’s odd.”

Sandor had been busy trying to pull Sansa back into the bed. He paused.

“Should I call her back?” Sansa stared at the phone.

“I guess so...it could have been a mistake.”

Sansa hopped out of the bed and dialed the number, pacing the floor.

Sandor settled back in the bed to watch her. 

“Margery? Hey....I’m fine, but how are _you_...? Oh, Margery, I’m so sorry....no, of course I don’t mind that you called. I meant what I said, I’m always here for you...today? I think I should be able to....okay.....okay. I’ll see you then.”

Sansa turned to face Sandor. 

“She wants to meet me for lunch.”

Sandor paused his ogling. “Today?”

“That’s what she said. The Gold Harp, at noon.”

“Hmmm. Well that’s a busy place and a busy time. I guess it would be okay.”

“I wasn’t asking for permission, Sandor.”

Sandor smirked. “I’m just speaking as your bodyguard, Mrs. Clegane. Just looking out for your safety.”

“Sandor, you’re such a soldier. Why would Margery want to meet with me _now_?”

Sandor shrugged. “I’m coming with you.”

“I figured you would.”

“Oh, no arguments?”

“I don’t like to argue. It’s easier if you just agree with me. I do try to be fair, you know.”

“I’m sure you do. Come here,” Sandor eyed her in a way that made Sansa’s blood heat.

Sansa padded over and crawled on top of him. 

“I like waking up with my wife all warm beside me. It gives me ideas.”

“You’re always getting ideas,” Sansa told him in a dry tone. 

“You inspire me. What can I say?”

“Sandor,” Sansa moaned as he began to kiss her neck. “I’ve got to shower and find some clean clothes, and...oh!” She exclaimed as his mouth went lower.

Nearly an hour later, Sansa was considering finally getting out of bed. She turned to look at Sandor in the light. Even rumpled from sleep and sex, he was ruggedly handsome. His skin, aside from various scars, was smooth and flawless. His hair shone with strands of raven black, mahogany, Sansa even saw some chestnut brown. 

Sansa was alarmed at how wildly attracted to him she was. Was that something that would last for years to come?

“It’s not just the sex, is it?” Sansa worried aloud. “We’re not just married for the sex, right?”

“I don’t think so,” Sandor replied. “The sex _is_ fucking amazing, though.”

Sansa smiled. 

“Go shower, Little Bird. If you don’t, I’ll regain my strength and keep you in this bed all day.”

“Bossy,” Sansa grumbled. 

“I’ll check to see if your clothes are dry.”

“My clothes?” Sansa looked confused. “What clothes?”

“Last night, after you fell asleep, I washed your clothes. Then I hung most of the stuff up to dry. I hope that was right.”

“Sandor, that was so thoughtful. Thank you.”

Sandor shrugged in embarrassment. “It wasn’t much. Not as if I had to journey down to the river and scrub them by hand.”

Sansa smiled. “True. But you took the time to make sure I had clean clothes. So all the same, thank you.”

Sandor kissed her. “You’re very welcome.”

“I should get ready,” Sansa sighed and reluctantly rolled out of bed. “I hope you don’t mind if I use your bathroom stuff.”

“Help yourself,” Sandor answered. 

Sansa stared in the mirror after her shower. She wasn’t sure what to do about her hair, but finally decided to secure it in a low bun. She teased a few tendrils out to frame her face.

A knock at the door, then it opened just enough for Sandor to thrust her clothes through the door.

“Thought you might need these,” he told her. 

“Thank you”, Sansa replied. She took the clothes and quickly dressed.   
  


She opened the door to her naked husband. Her gloriously naked husband, looking as if the gods had carved him from lightning and fire, every muscle and sinew was just...perfection. 

“Oh,” she stared at him for too long before she shook herself. “Hi.”

“Hello,” Sandor responded, one side of his mouth quirking into a ghost of a smile.

Sansa swallowed.

“Your hair,” Sandor murmured. “I’ve never seen it pulled back like this. You look like a sexy librarian.” He ran a light finger over the sleek strands. 

“I was going for smooth and sophisticated,” Sansa told him. “But a sexy librarian? That sounds like some kind of porn plot.”

“I’m willing to bet there’s a market for that,” Sandor answered. “What do you know about porn, Little Bird?”

“I have four brothers, Sandor.”

“Oh. I won’t ask any more about it, then.”

“Thank you,” Sansa told him. “I need some makeup, now.”

Sandor turned to watch her walk over to her purse. 

“You don’t really need makeup, you know.”

“Sandor, I’ll be in the company of Margery Tyrell Baratheon in a _very_ public place. I’m not going without makeup.”

“Whatever makes you feel better,” Sandor answered. “I’m going to shower.”

Sansa looked up at him, a slow smile spreading across her face. 

“What?” 

“I’m just picturing you in the shower. It sounds very...nice.”

“It would be nicer if you joined me.”

“Later,” Sansa blushed. “Go shower. You’re distracting me.”

Sandor smirked and shut the bathroom door. 

Sandor drove Sansa to the Gold Harp, a bistro that was frequented by people who were more interested in style than substance. The food was expensive, insubstantial, and it was mainly a restaurant to be seen at. Sansa always avoided it when she could. 

Sansa waited until Sandor had pulled into a parking space and gotten out to open her door. He held out a hand and she took it, as she gracefully exited the vehicle. 

Sandor gave her fingers a discreet squeeze before releasing them and followed behind her. 

Sansa found Margery right inside the restaurant. 

“Sansa,” Margery came to her immediately and hugged her. Sansa returned the hug without hesitation.

Margery pulled away. “You’re _glowing_. What have you been doing?” She smiled broadly.

Sansa felt a blush form all over her body. 

Sandor cleared his throat discreetly behind her, and Sansa was sure he was smothering a laugh. 

Margery didn’t miss a beat. She leaned to look over Sansa, up at Sandor. 

“You smell like men’s body wash and deodorant, too. But, your secret is safe with me.” Margery smiled at them mischievously and took Sansa’s hand. “Come on, I have a table towards the back.”

Sansa let Margery lead her to the table, where Loras also sat. 

“I had Brienne check for anyone who might be listening. Or anything. She found nothing, but we might want to tread lightly, just in case. No respect for a grieving widow when there’s coin to be made,” Loras spoke in a pleasant tone as he poured the wine.

Sansa wondered who Brienne was. 

“I’m glad you came today. I wasn’t sure if you would,” Margery told Sansa. 

“Of course I came,” Sansa responded. “I told you, we’re still friends.”

“I’m sure the papers will have such fun with this. Joffrey’s Jilted Lovers meet up to discuss, oh I don’t even know. Money, conspiracies, they’ll come up with something. They always do.”

Sansa shook her head and took a sip of her drink. 

“Let them. There’s nothing like that. Anyone can check public records.” Margery smiled wryly. “And I’m not coming to any extra money.”

Sansa gave Margery a questioning look.

“I am, however, entitled as a Baratheon widow to a third of the business. It was a clause Cersei created herself, with Tywin. Before she realized that she couldn’t handpick all of her children’s spouses, and create future versions of herself. Luckily I got ahold of that particular set of documents before they could be tampered with and rewritten.”

“So you’re working with Tywin and Cersei. How’s that going for you?” Sansa asked.

“As well as to be expected,” Margery almost laughed. “They don’t seem happy, though Tyrion has been very kind. I don’t know why it’s such a fuss. I didn’t come up with the stipulation. Cersei did, herself. I’m merely preserving her legacy.”

A blonde woman came into view. She was very tall, with excellent posture and a watchful look.

“Brienne,” Margery said warmly. “I want you to meet Sansa Stark.”

The lady Brienne nodded at Sansa and smiled. “A pleasure, Miss Stark.”

“Hello, Brienne,” Sansa smiled in return at the woman. 

Loras had been unusually quiet, but now he spoke up. 

“Brienne is Margery’s guard. We brought he over from Highgarden. She can outfight and outshoot any man I’ve ever seen.”

Sansa noticed Sandor giving Brienne a thoughtful glance. 

“Don’t worry, Sandor,” Margery told him. “Your employment is safe, should you choose to continue it, with the Lannisters or elsewhere. Loras can always use someone, right, Loras?”

Loras glanced over at Sandor, distracted. “Hmm? Oh, yes. If Sandor chooses. It’s fine with me.”

Sandor nodded.

Lunch was a rushed affair, and Sansa didn’t mind it, considering the awkwardness that surrounded the whole charade. 

Before they finally parted, Margery kissed Sansa on the cheek. “Don’t be a stranger, Sansa.”

“Take care, Margery. I’ll see you soon.”

  
  


Later in the car, Sansa ruminated on the afternoon. 

“That was...odd.” Sansa couldn’t think of another word for it. 

Sandor grunted in agreement.

“Why on earth did she feel the need to invite me to lunch? Today? And she brought Loras and that woman, Brienne...” Sansa trailed off, thinking.

“She was an interesting one, for sure. What makes them think they need her around? Something seems off.” Sandor agreed.

“They wanted to take our measure,” Sansa decided. “To see how much we know. Or if we can be trusted.”

“What do you mean?”

“At the reception, Loras and Olenna we’re acting so strange,” Sansa answered. She filled him in on what she saw. 

“You might be right,” Sandor told her thoughtfully.

“Please don’t run with that,” Sansa implored him. “The reception was madness. Nobody really knows how they’re supposed to act when something like that happens. I could be reading too much into nothing.”

“Rule number one, Little Bird,” Sandor told her. “Your instincts are there to guide you. Don’t doubt them.”

“So you think there’s something to it?”

“Sounds like you do,” Sandor replied.

“Me? I just told you....okay, well, obviously if it were _nothing_ it wouldn’t keep bothering me.”

“There you go.”

“I feel like you’re encouraging my paranoia.”

“I’m just trying to get you to examine something that’s nagging at you.”

“Fine,” Sansa sighed. “Still, please don’t say anything to anyone else about it, at least not yet.”

“You know I won’t.”

Sansa watched at Sandor drove past the road that led to his home.

“Where are we going?”

“To your house.”

“Are you _insane_? They’ll kill us both.”

“You’ll be fine. It’s me that is taking the risk.”

“Sandor, I think it’s too soon.”

“I understand that, but your parents are going to think I swept you away. I’m going to show them that I mean to do right by you, and that includes driving you back to their house so they can make up with their daughter. Otherwise, we’ll all be miserable.”

Sansa groaned. “This is a day for uncomfortable meetings.”

“I’ll make it up to you later.”


	29. Chapter 29

Ned and Catelyn had given the pair a chilly reception as they arrived at the Winterfell estate. 

Sansa had gotten upset at the unyielding coldness of the Starks, and this angered Sandor.

“I understand that I’m not the man that you’d have chosen for your daughter. Believe me, I understand. Sansa is everything good in this godsawful world, and she deserves a man that worships the ground she walks on. I might not be posh, or come from a good family, I may not have the kind of money that you’d like, but I can promise you this: Sansa will want for nothing, ever. If she chooses to pursue a career, I’ll be supportive. If she chooses not to, she’ll be well taken care of. I will protect her with my last dying breath, and I will strive every day to be better, to measure up as the man she deserves.”

Her parents had been unmoved, and the visit had ended with Sansa packing her things as she fought back tears.

Ned and Catelyn watched silently, their faces stricken, as their oldest child carried her luggage out the front door. 

“This isn’t goodbye,” Sansa told them. “At least I hope it’s not. Sandor has a loft in the city, so I’ll be close by. You’ll be able to find me easily, if you choose to.”

Sandor pulled the car into his parking space and killed the engine. He and Sansa sat in the waning sunlight, staring blankly ahead for a moment.

“It went better than I expected, honestly,” Sansa spoke in an artificially bright tone. “I honestly thought it was going to go a lot worse. A _lot_ worse. We’re unscathed, so there’s that. No annulment, that’s a start. I think that in time, everything will be fine.”

Sandor scoffed. His Little Bird, always kind and courteous, even if she twisted the truth in the name of _manners._

“I didn’t like any part of it,” Sandor told her bluntly. “If you’d have agreed to an annulment and continued on the path they chose for you, things would have returned to perfect on the surface. It’s ridiculous, the way they expect so much from you, even if you’re unhappy. Why is it okay for Arya to date Gendry, a man who they probably deem inferior, while she runs around like a hellion?”

“It’s not really okay with them. Arya just doesn’t care about things like that. She’s not a lot of trouble otherwise.”

Sandor snorted. 

“She’s not. And my parents don’t act like Gendry is inferior.”

“I beg your pardon, but I only see the hypocrisy. It doesn’t sit well with me, Sansa. You’re just as capable of being your own person. Instead of hearing you out, they’re behaving as if you let them down. How? Not marrying a rich cunt with a recognizable last name? You’re still the same person that you were before. Nothing has changed. You’re a daughter that would make anyone proud.”

Sansa felt tears sting her eyes. 

“It’s not you,” she began.

“I’m a monster to them, that’s a major part of it. And I get it, believe me.”

“Sandor, I don’t want to fight.”

“I don’t either. I’m on your side, whether you realize it or not.”

“I know,” Sansa looked exhausted. “Let’s just go in.”

“To my loft?” Sandor couldn’t help but tease her. 

Sansa huffed. “It is a loft! You called it an apartment and I’m sorry, but it’s not. Not all apartments are so spacious and private. Most don’t have huge windows in every room with gorgeous views.”

Sandor smirked. “I’ll get your bags. Then I’m going to fuck you up against every window in this loft. Talk about gorgeous views.”

“Sandor!”

“Unless you don’t want me to.”

“You’re so....I never said that I didn’t want you to. I just prefer your bed.”

“I’m more than happy to accommodate your wishes, Little Bird.”

Sandor gathered the luggage Sansa had packed and led them to his front door. 

Honestly, he shouldn’t have been surprised to see an unexpected visitor, but it irked him all the same.

“Sansa,” Petyr Baelish has been leaning against the front railing of Sandor’s small front porch. He stood at attention now, ignoring Sandor, his face full of concern.

“Mr. Baelish,” Sansa sounded less than thrilled, though she smiled politely at him. “What a surprise.”

“Yes,” Baelish chuckled. “Well, you’ve been good at those lately, too. I came because I had to see for myself.”

“See what?” Sansa was perfectly polite, just the slightest bite of frost punctuated her words. 

“Sansa, darling,” Peytyr gave her a look. “You can’t mean to actually throw your life away. Sandor, do you mind to give Sansa and myself a private moment?”

Sansa looked alarmed but Sandor would have let all seven hells freeze over first. 

“I’m sorry, Baelish, but Sansa and I are extremely busy. Maybe some other time.”

“Busy,” Baelish smirked a bit. “Hmmm. Busy doing what? Here we have an old dog who’s used to living off scraps...accompanied by a beautiful, bright, wealthy young lady...sure. I think you can spare a moment for an old friend, Sansa.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Baelish, but Sandor is right. We’ve got so much to do this evening. Please don’t worry, everything is fine. I appreciate your concern, however,” Sansa finished with a trace of sarcasm.

Petyr gave them both an unhappy glare. 

“I’ll be sure to tell your mother that I tried but there was nothing I could do. You know where to find me, Sansa.”

With that Petyr walked off. Once he got about ten yards away, he turned and delivered one final parting shot.

“I just hope you don’t meet the same fate that the other women in Sandor’s life usually do,” Petyr smiled sadly at Sansa. Then he turned again and walked away. 

Sansa rolled her eyes as Baelish turned the corner out of sight. “He’s too creepy and arrogant for his own good. Once upon a time, he and my mother were childhood friends, but now she can barely tolerate his company.”

Sansa paused to look up at Sandor. 

“What on earth did he mean by that last little bit? It doesn’t matter,” Sansa shook her head. “Let’s go inside.”

Sandor forced himself to relax and unlocked the door.

Sansa spent some time unpacking, although most of her things had to stay packed. 

Sandor had been in the living room sitting silently on the sofa. 

“I’m afraid I don’t have room for most of my things. We’ll remedy that eventually.” Sansa smiled and sat down beside him. 

Sandor could barely look at her. His stomach was in a tight knot of dread. 

“Sandor,” Sansa murmured. She raised herself up to kiss him, stroking his hair back with gentle fingers. “I promise I won’t take up too much room,” she joked weakly. 

“He’s right, you know,” Sandor told Sansa woodenly. 

“Who?”

“Baelish was right,” Sandor answered. “About the women in my life.”

Sansa sat back slowly. “What...what do you mean?”

“Gregor,” Sandor loathed saying that name. It was like spewing something rancid from his mouth. 

“Your brother?” Sansa still sounded confused. 

“It was a warning”, Sandor told her. “Gregor knows I’m married and Baelish is petty enough to help him fuck with me.”

“I thought your brother lived in Dorne? Why would he care?”

“He does live in Dorne. For now. Once he hears that I’m married, especially to Sansa Stark, he’ll be back. He can’t resist the urge to make me miserable. I can’t let that happen. I can’t let anything happen to you.”

“I don’t understand,” Sansa said softly, looking at him with huge eyes. She took his hand, rubbing it in a soothing way. “Tell me why.”

“He’s sadistic, Sansa. He’s a monster. I learned to fight and kill for a job, it’s the only thing I’ve ever been suited for. Gregor kills for sport. He kills because he enjoys it. He pushed me into a fire like he was swatting a fly. Thought nothing of it, really. Didn’t care about the agony I went through during or after. Just...burnt his own brother. Likely killed his own sister. And when the court costs got too high, because he couldn’t stop hurting people...my parents died shortly after he asked them to sell their estate. My father refused, it was the first time I ever saw him stand up to Gregor. He told them they’d regret it and left the house. I was 16, that would make Gregor about 18 I guess. About a week later, he came home all apologies. He brought flowers for my mother. My father seemed so relieved that Gregor was willing to accept that he was sick and willing to go to treatment, which was what prison would have been for Gregor. But then, the next morning he was gone. And the housekeeper found my mother. She supposedly died in her sleep, but I know that isn’t true. Gregor doesn’t kill quietly, and he was picked up about 100 miles away, in some brothel, inflicting gods knows what on some poor girl, so nobody suspected him, but I did. I knew, I always know when he’s involved.”

Sansa looked at him sadly. 

“After my father died....I just left. I joined the army, then the Kingsguard. There I made a friend. That’s all we were, just friends. She was very quiet and I could tell that she’d been through some awful things. Men and women were separated for housing, but she would seek me out other times. She started following me around at meal times. Neither of us were big talkers, but I didn’t turn her away. I just let her hang around with me. Her name was Elia.”

Sansa was listening quietly. 

Sandor swallowed and went on.

“She never asked me about my scars. I never asked her why she was so jumpy, like something was lurking in the shadows all the time.” Sandor shook his head. 

“One night we had liberty, so we decided to go to a pub. It was just the two of us...it wasn’t a date. But that didn’t matter. I should have been more careful, I should have seen it coming,” Sandor stopped a moment. 

“We bumped into Gregor, out with his fucking degenerate friends. Bumped into him, he found us, doesn’t matter. He recognized Elia, and it turned out that Gregor had been hired during the rebellion to kill her and her whole family. The Martells were among the wealthiest people in Kings Landing at the time, and a threat to someone who wanted them destroyed. Gregor killed her husband, he killed her children. But Elia had escaped. She’d left Dorne, her homeland, and came here to train. I think she wanted to seek revenge on Gregor. I didn’t find out any of this until later. I just knew I had to drag her out of there. She looked at Gregor as if he were an actual devil. Not too far off the mark, actually. She was nearly hysterical at the sight of him.”

Sansa let out a noise of surprise. “She was Elia _Martell_? You befriended Elia Martell?”

“Yes, and it would have been better if I hadn’t.”

Sansa swallowed. “I remember how the story ends.”

“I never should have walked her straight back to the barracks that night. I couldn’t even go all the way with her. I had to leave at the gate. That was last time I saw her. She was found days later and...well, you said you know how the story ends.”

“You can’t blame yourself, Sandor,” Sansa told him. “I know that’s easier said than done, but I know you would have never willingly put her in any danger.”

“I should have known. I was stupid and careless. The way they looked at one another...I told myself that she was just afraid of Gregor, like most. And that he was just looking at her like he did most women. Like prey.”

“Sandor, it wasn’t your fault.”

“I could have saved her.”

“You might have that night, true. Then again, who’s to say that you could have? What about the nights after that? You said yourself that she was likely training to avenge her family. You wouldn’t have been able to stop her if was set on revenge.”

“I could have saved her and I didn’t. Gregor and our enemies are always out there, lying in wait. I’m not making the same mistake with you.”

“What?”

“We’re leaving. I’m putting you somewhere safe. Then I have to kill Gregor. It’s the only way to ensure that nothing will happen to you.”

“Sandor, I’m not jewelry. You can’t stow me away! For the gods sakes, I can’t expect you to hide me away forever. We have to live our lives.”

“I would do anything I had to in order to keep you safe, Sansa. Even if you hate me for it, I’ll protect you.”

“I could never hate you, Sandor.”

“Not even now?”

“Especially not now. You opened up to me. I feel like that’s good. We’re married, and I know nothing about this has been traditional, but I’d like to know you better. That was a start.”

Sandor stared mutely into space. 

“I know it’s uncomfortable for you to open up,” Sansa told him gently. “But I like it when you do.”

“I’m trying,” Sandor told her. He felt all out of sorts.

“I know you are,” Sansa said softly. “I know.”

Sandor insisted on barring the doors and sleeping with a gun on either side of himself and Sansa. 

“Tomorrow I meet with Cersei,” he told her. “She will either fire me or put me somewhere else. Maybe I can convince her to send me far away from here. Nothing like distance as a safety measure.”

“I’ll follow you anywhere,” Sansa told him. “Even to the Iron Islands.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, Little Bird.” Sandor couldn’t fight off a smile. 

“Too cold and rainy. No wonder they’re so disgruntled there,” Sansa agreed as she snuggled into her cocoon of covers.

“Cold?”

“A bit. You’re so _warm_ all the time. I didn’t think you’d mind if I just take all the blankets.”

“I suppose I’m just meant to lie here naked and freezing, while my wife covers up with all the bedding.”

“Naked? But you’re not naked.”

Sandor stood and stripped off his boxer briefs. 

“Oh,” Sansa’s mouth parted as she looked at him, pupils blown.

“By all means, take the covers,” Sandor fought a laugh as he settled in bed again.

Sansa sat up and peeled them off of her, revealing smooth skin and other parts that interested Sandor greatly. 

“I don’t want you to feel left out. There’s plenty of room for two”, Sansa spread the covers over Sandor as well. 

Sandor wrapped them around himself and slid deeper into the bed. “It’s still missing something.”

“What?”

Sandor pulled his wife towards him, her naked skin against his causing his blood to heat. “I think it was this.”

“Oh,” Sansa gasped, as his demanding cock pressed insistently into her thigh. “I see what you mean. Um, okay, this is an improvement for sure. If I may....”

Sansa tugged at Sandor until he was leaning over her. 

“My nose is cold.” She looked at him expectantly. 

Sandor dropped a soft kiss on the tip of her nose. 

“Better,” Sansa sighed. “But now my lips are cold.”

“Your lips?” Sandor raised an eyebrow.

“Very,” Sansa answered seriously. “I think I need your body heat. I’ve noticed that your mouth is especially warm.”

Sandor leaned over and pecked her lips, leaning back to examine her. “Like that?”

Sansa pouted. “Not quite.”

Sandor smiled and kissed her again, letting his lips linger just a bit longer. “Or that?”

Sansa smiled at him. “I’m not sure. Try again.”

Sandor leaned over and let his lips melt onto hers. Automatically, her mouth parted, and he kissed her deeply and throughly, cupping her head in his hands. 

“How’s that?” Sandor felt the rest of his blood go south, and wondered how on earth he could get any harder. 

“Better,” Sansa said breathily, her pupils so enlarged that her eyes looked nearly black. Sandor admired the soft flush that spread from her checks, down her neck and chest, and lingered at her tits, the nipples pebbling and turning rosy under his heated gaze. 

“You seem very warm now, Little Bird.”

“I am, very much so. Thank you.”

“Anything else you need?”

“There might be one more thing...”

“What is it?”

Sansa squirmed, her thighs pressing together. “I think you know.”

“I’m afraid I don’t. Can you help me out an bit?”

“ _Sandor_ ,” she wailed softly, tugging him toward her. 

“Say it. Tell me what you want. Then it’s all yours.”

Sansa huffed. Her hands ran up his biceps, then down his broad back. She tried to tug him toward her. It was like moving a mountain. 

“You, Sandor. I want you.”

“What do you want me to do, Sansa?” 

“I want,” Sansa huffed in frustration, “I want you to...”

“You want me to what?” Sandor asked, leaning to nip gently at her ear. 

Sansa gasped at the sensation. 

“I can wait all night,” Sandor lied. Truth was, he was close to giving in. 

“I want you, Sandor. Please....”

Sandor licked her pulse point behind the ear. 

“What do you want, Little Bird?” 

“ _Fuck_ me, Sandor! Please. I want you to fuck me,” Sansa moaned, arching up and writhing under him

That was all it took to sent Sandor into the highest state of arousal. 

He lowered his head to trail kisses down her body. Sansa squirmed and gasped under his mouth, sometimes squealing when his lips found a particularly sensitive area. He lingered at her breasts, enjoying the way she arched underneath him and gripped the back of his neck when his tongue lapped at her soft tits, swirling around her nipples. 

He moved lower over her belly, over her hips, the soft space just above her warm, wet cunt. 

“Sandor,” she moaned.

Sandor kissed her neatly trimmed curls, making her shiver. His tongue darted out to lick, and he buried his face in her wet folds.

“Ohhhh gods, Sandor....” Sansa sounded drunk as she groaned his name, her hands gripping the back of his head. 

Sandor licked her throughly, teasing her with lips and tongue. Then he found her clit, slick and swollen with desire. His tongue flicked out and he grazed it gently. 

Sansa gasped. Her thighs trembled around his head and he repeated the action with a bit more pressure. 

“Sandor!” Sansa arched to meet him, as he licked again and again. He trailed figure eights around the little bud with his tongue. As she cried out, Sandor slid one finger inside her.

Sansa practically howled as she came, the rush of dampness flowing down his hand and her thighs. 

Sandor waited until Sansa stopped thrashing, then he slowly removed his finger and kissed his way back up to her.

She looked like a goddess. Her cheeks were flushed, red hair wild, blue eyes bright, her rosebud mouth parted and inviting.

“You’re so beautiful,” Sandor mumbled. How could such a creature be his? 

“Sandor,” Sansa sat up, pushing him down impatiently. “It’s my turn.”

Sandor blinked. “You don’t have to-“

“I _want_ to,” she insisted. 

Sandor laid back and let Sansa take her turn trailing kisses down his body. He hissed out a breath as she went lower, trying to be still and bear the sweet agony of her mouth on him. 

An experimental finger trailed down his erection.

Sandor bit back a moan.

Sansa replaced her finger with her tongue, licking up and down the length of him.

“Do you like that?” Sansa peered up at him from beneath her lashes. 

“Yes,” Sandor managed in a strangled voice.

“Oh...good,” Sansa whispered. 

Then she took him fully into her mouth and Sandor groaned, his head falling back. 

“Gods,” he moaned. “Sansa...”

Sansa bobbed over his shaft, and Sandor fisted her covers in his hands, fighting the urge to buck his hips hard, sinking himself into her mouth. She licked and swirled her tongue experimentally along his cock. 

Sandor hissed out his breath. 

“Is this okay?” Sansa asked anxiously, pausing to look up at him. 

“It’s definitely okay,” Sandor gasped.

Sansa smiled a bit and returned to what she’d been doing. 

Sandor felt her take the length of him into her mouth, deeper and deeper, until she jerked back, coughing a bit. 

“I’m sorry,” she said breathlessly. “You’re so _big_ , I can’t seem to make it fit.”

This did nothing to tamp the fire in his blood. 

“I can’t believe that this entire thing fits inside of me,” Sansa whispered, licking the head of his shaft. “It doesn’t even seem possible...Our bodies are a marvel.”

“You’re a marvel,” Sandor said thickly as Sansa stroked his length.

He was painfully hard now, and the urge to spread Sansa’s soft thighs apart and plunge into her silken, wet cunt was nearly overwhelming. 

“Do you want to...?” Sansa blushed a bit, looking at him.

“Fuck you?” Sandor asked helpfully, hoping he didn’t sound too eager. 

Sansa nodded, positioning herself on her back almost immediately.

Sandor climbed over and eased himself down carefully, until he and Sansa aligned. Kissing her deeply, he slid his cock into her. She was soaked, and his cock was soon coated in her juices as he slid in and out of her easily. 

“Oh,” Sansa shuddered, her hands coming up to grasp at his back.

Sandor couldn’t stop his furious pace, and he plunged into her again and again. He attempted to slow down, tried to be mindful of her comfort. 

“ _You’re killing her, you brute_ ,” he thought, forcing himself to slow down.

“Don’t stop!” Sansa cried, head thrown back, cheeks flushed. “Oh gods, more, Sandor, please!”

_Fuck self-control then_ , Sandor thought, giving her what she asked for. 

“Ungh...” Sansa made indecipherable noises as Sandor braced himself on his elbows and moved deeply in her.

“Is this...okay?” Sandor gasped, sweat beading on his brow as he watched Sansa’s reaction. 

“Don’t stop,” she repeated in a hoarse voice, her thighs tightening around him. “Don’t stop, Sandor, _please_ don’t stop...”

Sandor obliged her, nearly mad with pleasure at the way her cunt gripped him, as he plunged over and over.

Sandor felt it as Sansa came, her inner walls fluttering all around his cock as she let out one last cry of pleasure. 

Sandor let go of his restraint, his release flooding his body with satisfied bliss. 

He pulled out and finished in his hand with a low groan. 

He stumbled to the bathroom to clean up hastily, then returned to the bedroom, collapsing in bed beside a dazed Sansa. 

She curled into him as she always did, and Sandor murmured a contented sound as he held her closely. 

“I’d kill for you,” Sandor told her. 

“Mmm,” Sansa purred, half asleep. “I know you would.”

Sandor watched her as she drifted off, her face gentle and still, the perfect picture of beauty and goodness.

“I _will_ kill for you, Sansa,” he murmured. “Nobody will hurt you, ever again.” 


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly two weeks without an update! I apologize to anyone who has been keeping up with this story. I’ve been so busy that simply finding time to edit chapters that I’ve already written has been a challenge. A thousand thanks for all your patience! Let me preface this by saying that I apologize for any rough edges or mistakes in this chapter. I really wanted to add to the story without any further delay, and maybe sped through the process with a bit too much haste. However, I hope you enjoy regardless! ❤️

Sandor knocked on Cersei’s office door. 

“Enter,” she said. 

Sandor opened the door and closed it gently behind him. 

Cersei was dressed in a flattering suit, heels on, long golden hair perfect. But she wore no makeup and her eyes were red from crying, or booze, probably both in Sandor’s estimation. 

She’d been sipping from her tumbler, staring blankly out the window when Sandor arrived. Now she walked briskly to her desk and sat, posture perfect, her professional manner belying her emotional turmoil.

“Sit down, Mr. Clegane.”

Sandor sat in front of her.

“The funeral will be held this Saturday. I expect you here by eight sharp. You’ll attend me, and I expect you to stay with me for the duration. Then you will take me to my family home. I’ll not need you around as much, but you’ll be expected to be on call, should a need arise. Despite your little dalliance with Sansa Stark, you’ve been a loyal employee. Loyalty should be rewarded. It _is_ a rare enough quality.”

Cersei sighed and took a long drink of her tumbler. She stared at a framed photo on her wall. It was of her three children, taken several years ago. Three beautiful, smiling children, golden heads close together. A perfect portrait.

“A mother should _not_ have to bury her own child!” Cersei suddenly screamed, then broke off into a deep sob. She slammed down her drink and retrieved a bottle of pills from a drawer.

“Is there anything I can do for you, Mrs. Baratheon?” Sandor asked awkwardly as Cersei swallowed a few pills and leaned back into her chair. 

“You can do your job, Mr. Clegane.” Cersei was struggling to maintain her usual icy composure. 

  
“Stay near your phone, and keep your eyes and ears open. You do realize this was murder and betrayal of the highest degree? I’m certain this was an inside job, and if I must, I’ll die proving it.” Cersei had a cold gleam in her eye. “You’re free to go now, but send in Jaime before you leave.”

Sandor found Jaime down the hall, looking almost as distraught as Cersei. 

When Sandor approached him, Jaime straightened his posture and wiped his face of expression.

Sandor knew the rumors, about Cersei and her brother.  He had wondered before if Joffrey was unhinged because of the circumstances surrounding his parentage. 

However, Myrcella and Tommen were decent children, and Joffrey likely would have been an asshole anyway, the way Cersei kissed his ass and allowed him to run wild with no consequences. 

Sandor was not paid to speculate. Anyway, what did it matter now?

“Mr. Lannister, Mrs. Lannister wishes to speak to you in her office.”

Jaime’s face took on an odd blend of pain and dread. He nodded at Sandor and brushed past him down the hall. 

Sandor paused at the elevator, realizing that he was, in fact, free for the week. Sure, he was ‘on call’, and that could become a pain in the ass, but in the meantime...he could do as he liked. 

Sandor couldn’t remember the last time he didn’t have every moment scheduled for him. It was a peculiar feeling. 

He took the elevator to the parking garage. 

The doors opened, and Ned Stark stood before him. 

“Sandor nodded politely and made to leave, wishing to hurry to his car.

“Sandor,” Ned turned to follow Sandor. “Please, let me say something.”

Sandor felt his nostrils flare, but turned to face Ned.

“I need to get some things from my office,” Ned spoke in a low tone. “Then I think it’s time you and I had a chat, man to man.”

Sandor raised an eyebrow. 

“There’s a lot at stake, currently,” Ned paused, as if considering his words carefully. “I don’t hold a grudge against you Sandor. In light of recent events, well...” 

Ned swiped at his brow, an impatient gesture. 

“I’m glad Sansa has you. Will you please give me a bit of of your time? An hour, at most.”

Sandor shrugged. “I suppose I could.”

“Excellent,” Ned sounded relieved. “Can you meet me for lunch at the Blackfish?”

“Yes,” Sandor answered.

“I’ll be right behind you,” Ned told him, pressing the elevator buttons. 

Sandor called Sansa from the car.

“Well, I suppose he’s _not_ holding a grudge,” Sansa told Sandor, though she sounded puzzled. “It does sound like he needs to talk to you about something very important. He’s having you drive all the way to the Blackfish?”

“That’s what he said.” 

“He wants discretion...in that case, I need you to tell him something for me.”

“What?”

“I believe that the Tyrells were responsible, for the...you know. Olenna was careful to clean Margery’s lips immediately, even during the chaos that was all around them. Loras tried to stop the cops from taking Margery. He seemed so worried, but in a weird way. Then I started thinking about how they’d been to Dorne. You know Dorne has some of the best chemists around, who will make _anything_ for the right price. It would have been possible for one of the Tyrells to slip away during the trip and get ahold of something. Risky, but possible.”

“Margery might have believed it a risk worth taking.”

“Why would she think it a risk worth taking? I know being married to Joffrey couldn’t have been pleasant, but it had to be better than risking prison. Or worse.”

“She was living dangerously anyway. Joffrey was abusive. In almost every way.”

“Abusive? You saw him...do things? To Margery?” Sansa’s voice took on an edge of panic. 

“He was careful to never openly harm her, Sansa. He managed to never take it too far. For the time being. I know bad situations usually get worse with time. But she never objected, never complained. I’d have intervened otherwise. I asked her, the night we found out Robert was shot, if she was all right. She told me it was nothing she couldn’t handle.”

Sansa was silent for a moment.

“She handled it, then.”

“Somebody did.”

The Blackfish was a pub well off the beaten path. A small, unassuming establishment carved into a glen of trees, with a small gravel parking lot. It belonged to a distant relative of the Starks, and it was not a place you’d take a date or anyone you were trying to impress. The redeeming quality that the Blackfish possessed was its discreet location and staff. This was a place for brass tactics, for true business. 

Sandor pulled off to the side of the lot, half hidden by a large pine tree. Making sure his position ensured a clean getaway, if worse came to worse, he settled in to wait. 

Ned arrived in a midnight blue SUV not even ten minutes later. He parked beside the restaurant, putting distance between himself and Sandor, obviously for the benefit of anyone who might come out this way. 

Maybe this wasn’t just about Sansa, after all. 

Sandor felt his curiosity deepen even further. 

Ned walked into the restaurant without so much as a glance toward Sandor. The door shut behind him and everything was quiet again. 

Sandor waited at least five minutes before getting out of his car and following Ned. 

Inside the pub was smoky, smelling of booze, polished wood, and simple, hearty food. As a good pub ought to, in Sandor’s firm opinion.

He found Ned easily, in a booth next to a window. 

“Sandor,” Ned looked up at him and gave a half smile. “Join me.”

Sandor sat. 

A dragonfly beat against the screen of their window, buzzing angrily at being denied access. 

Ned slid the glass-paneled window shut. “Insects. _That_ would be the only complaint I can find with summer.”

A buxom brunette sauntered over, giving Ned a cheeky smile. 

“Mr. Stark! It’s been _ages_. What can I get you today?” She blinked her lovely green eyes at him, flicking her bouncy ponytail behind her shoulder. 

“Hello, Terra,” Ned gave the girl the kind of smile you’d give to a particularly irritating child. “I believe I’ll have the chicken salad on sourdough, and maybe a tonic water with lime. Sandor?”

Terra swiveled her glance toward Sandor, seeming to notice him for the first time. Her eyes widened briefly, then she turned on the charm, smiling at Sandor like she had at Ned.

“Do you do a club sandwich here?” Sandor asked. It was the only thing he could think of without a menu. 

“We do. It’s _very_ popular.” Terra seemed to grow brave, winking at Sandor. 

“I’ll take a club sandwich,” Sandor told her. 

“A pint as well? You look like a man who’d appreciate a good pint midday.” Terra asked, giving Sandor an appreciative up-and-down look.

By the Seven, who did this woman think she was fooling?

“A glass of water, please,” Sandor told her, turning his gaze to Ned. 

“That’ll do us, Terra, thank you,” Ned said in a pleasant tone. 

Sandor didn’t dare look as Terra left them, but he somehow knew she was the type to swing her hips as she walked. 

Ned shook his head with a small smile. 

“So, it seems we have a lot to discuss.” Ned said, all business once again. “However, I’d like you to go first. I have a feeling quite a few pieces will begin to fit the puzzle once we hear each other out.”

“Fair enough,” Sandor shrugged and dove right in. “Joffrey was abusing Margery during their short marriage. Bruises that she tried to hide, insisting on sex multiple times a day, berating her and generally being a horrible little cunt. Then Sansa gave me some information that she asked I share with you once I met you here.”

“You told Sansa you were meeting me?” Ned raised his eyebrows. “And she didn’t talk you out of it?”

“Sansa feels safer when she knows where I’m at. She isn’t tracking my every move, but I do keep a pretty regular schedule. She might have worried if she couldn’t get ahold of me. The cell service seems pretty spotty out here.”

“The bad cell service _can_ be beneficial out here. As for Sansa, well, she does occasionally worry too much. Much like her mother,” Ned smiled tightly. “What did she want you to tell me?”

“She thinks the Tyrells are responsible for Joffrey and his demise. She saw something at the reception that made her think Olenna and Loras assisted Margery in a sort of...caper. Olenna fussing over Margery, cleaning her mouth. Loras panicking when the police took Margery.”

“Ah,” Ned didn’t seem surprised.

“So, that’s all on my end,” Sandor continued. “Suppose you tell me yours.”

Terra interrupted them just then with their lunch. 

“Chicken salad and tonic water, with lime,” she said cheerfully, plucking the items off a tray and setting them on the table. “And a club with a water for you.” She sat the food down in front of Sandor, leaning over further than necessary to display her ample cleavage. 

Sandor kept his eyes on his meal. “Thank you,” he told her gruffly. 

“Of course,” she beamed. “Let me know if you need anything at all.”

Sandor felt relieved as she flounced away. 

“So, as you said,” Ned unfolded a threadbare napkin and placed it in his lap. “My turn.”

Sandor waited while Ned took a bit of his chicken salad and chewed thoughtfully. 

“It would appear that we have proof that the Baratheon children, that is to say, Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen...are in fact not Baratheon children. They’re Lannisters.”

“Very much so,” Sandor agreed. “The younger two might turn out all right, though. Cersei was so busy sinking her claws into other endeavors, it gave Myrcella and Tommen a fighting chance to escape too much of their mother’s influence.”

“No, you don’t understand. They’re Lannisters through and through. By blood, as well as in name. Fathered by Jaime Lannister.”

Sandor gave Ned a level look. “I hate to burst your bubble, but that isn’t exactly new information. Everyone in Westeros has heard that rumor, at least once.”

Ned shook his head and sipped his drink. “You don’t understand. I have proof.”

“What sort of proof?”

“DNA taken from the bodies of Robert and Joffrey Baratheon. The DNA does not match. Whether or not Jaime is the father of Cersei’s children is immaterial. The point is, they’re not Robert’s.”

“Okay,” Sandor said slowly. He wished he’d have accepted that pint after all. “If they’re not technically Robert’s children, how does that affect anything? They’re named as heirs, regardless.”

“Heirs, yes. Inheritance must be disputed. I’ve had my suspicions, but I think it’s time to find out once and for all.”

“I’m not following.”

“I believe Gendry is Robert’s son.”

Sandor half-laughed. “Gendry Waters? Your daughter’s boyfriend Gendry?”

“Yes,” Ned said seriously. “When Arya first started bringing him around, something struck me as familiar about him. You didn’t know Robert as a young man, but I did. They were so similar in so many ways...of course, Robert was always more outgoing, more brash. He commanded every room he entered, you know that as well as I do. Gendry isn’t like that, but something just, I don’t know. It crept into my brain and wouldn’t leave. I did some digging. Turns out that Gendry’s mother was employed as a secretary for Robert Baratheon 20 years ago. Now that could be purely coincidental, of course, but she left her job around the time of Gendry’s birth and didn’t return. She continued to receive pay, however. What employer continues to pay a former employee a regular salary for several years?”

“Oh,” Sandor leaned back in his seat.

“She led a very private life. Didn’t raise any issues or questions. Didn’t try to stake a claim to any Baratheon ties. However, there is the matter of her mysterious death. Gendry was around ten years old. About the age when he’d begin to ask serious questions about his father. Perhaps he’d done some digging on his own. Perhaps Cersei and Tywin had learned where those secret payments were really going. Poor lad, his mother left to get groceries and never returned home. She was found dead by gunshot at the edge of Fleabottom, near the water. There was a quick open and shut case, claiming a robbery gone awry, but no report of any attempted robbery was made by any grocery store for miles around that day. Who’d have shot her, dragged her down to Fleabottom, and left after a failed attempt at a robbery? It doesn’t make sense.”

Sandor shook his head.

“Gendry was sent to the orphanage on the Quiet Isle, which likely saved his life. That, and the fact that he’s a quiet lad, living a quiet life. Not as easy to find.”

“He’s been right here in King’s Landing this whole time,” Sandor shook his head again. “He has Robert’s eyes. I see it now. As far-fetched as it sounds, I actually believe you.”

“It’s just a matter of getting DNA from Gendry, and matching it to Robert.” Ned took another bite of his food.

“Wait,” Sandor felt a sense of alarm begin to tingle. “You’re actually planning to pursue this and make it public?”

“I’d like to handle it as privately as possible, of course,” Ned answered. “However, it will go public eventually. That’s the natural course of these things. The Lannisters don’t need the money, they don’t need the titles and the land. They could purchase all those things on their own and barely notice the dip in their bank account. Or they could have, that is, until Joffrey was allowed to run wild with the finances. He ran up such debt, they’re going to be hard pressed paying everything off. There were quite a few unsavory characters he associated with, as you well know,” Ned gave Sandor a meaningful look. “Several of them are requiring hush money, it seems. Quite a bit.”

“I see the issue, truly. They shouldn’t pay off Joffrey’s debts with money he’s not really entitled to. But you’re playing a dangerous game by bringing this into the light, Ned. My concern is for your safety. The safety of your family.”

“That’s why I wanted to meet with you,” Ned replied. “Things are going to get...a bit difficult for a while. I can’t afford to pay you what the Lannisters paid you, of course, but seeing as how you’re now family and all...”

“Stop.” Sandor raised his hands. “Money isn’t the issue. I’d do it for free. However, I’ll be blunt, this is a terminally stupid idea. I know the Lannisters, Ned. I know the side of them that they don’t show the rest of the world. They’re dirty fighters and they don’t lose. You’d be risking your life. You’d be risking the life of all the Starks, plus Gendry. I’m one man, and as much as I’d like to see justice served, the Lannisters are not going to fight fairly. It’s not worth the risk you’d be taking. It’s not worth losing everything.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Sandor,” Ned answered stiffly. “However, my conscience won’t allow me to lay this to rest.”

“Fuck your conscience!” Sandor tried not to shout. “This would be a huge mistake. Believe me when I tell you that.”

“Do you think the Lannisters should still continue to sit upon their thrones, looking down upon everyone else like vengeful gods, not caring who they hurt? They hurt people everyday, Sandor, gleefully. I shouldn’t have to tell you that. You should know. You can’t say that, aside from the pay, you were treated well. Look at how they treat Tyrion, and he’s one of them! Look at how they allowed Margery to be hurt. And Sansa,” Ned looked away a moment. “I know that no true son of Robert’s would have done the things to women that Joffrey did. Yes, whoever gets in their way, they kill. I understand what you’re saying, I do. But they must be stopped, do you understand? They must be stopped.”

Sandor took a breath and tried to talk sense.

“You were a military man, Ned. You’re honorable. You also know all about strategy and fighting against the odds. I would be willing to take those odds with you, if we had any shot of winning. We don’t, Ned. If we try, they’ll bury us, along with any shred of truth that might come to the light. We need another fleet of soldiers, Ned. We can’t go in alone and expect to make it out. Others will fall, deflect, turn on us. We need better odds, do you see what I’m saying? We need to strengthen our side.”

“Nobody is stupid enough to take on the Lannisters,” Ned laughed without mirth. “Except me, it seems.”

“You’re hellbent on a fool’s mission, yes. But stupid? Far from it. Look at what you’ve managed to uncover. You’ve pieced together evidence that has laid dormant for years. Hardly the work of a stupid man.”

“You know, Sandor, you’re nothing like you’re brother.” Ned said suddenly as he took the last bite of his food and wiped his mouth. 

“Gregor doesn’t care about anything but the kill. Regardless of who he’s killing.”

“I know,” Ned answered, taking out his wallet and laying some bills down on the table. “You’re a good man, Sandor. I didn’t truly see it until now. I apologize for painting both of you with the same brush before.”

Ned stood and nodded at Sandor. 

“This one’s on me,” Ned told him. “Take care of my daughter. She seems quite fond of you.”

Sandor watched Ned walk away. 

“Damn it all to seven hells,” he swore softly. 


	31. Chapter 31

Sansa paced the apartment, unable to keep still.

She’d worked on her thesis, but her racing thoughts kept her from completing any sort of comprehensive work. So she’d abandoned that for the moment and switched on the television. 

Big mistake. It was nothing but coverage of Joffrey and Robert, their tragic deaths and their so-called “legacies”, sadly left behind. The majority of it was twisted to paint them as altruistic saints, humble business men, shining examples to be admired. 

Sansa snorted and turned off the tv in disgust. Money could buy just about anything, it seemed.

She was just proud of Margery for not cracking and giving a teary-eyed widow bit for any of the cameras. She’d stayed well out of the limelight,. Only brief glances of her being shuttled between cars and buildings were captured, and she was always shielded by bodyguards. Barely a peep of her face was shown, her head ducked down and covered by huge sunglasses and wide-brimmed hats.

Smart girl. 

Sansa called her mother, got the polite, social call treatment. Everyone was fine, as fine as to be expected. She was quite busy with things at the moment as Sansa’s father was having Catelyn comb through old records and set up mysterious lunch dates. 

“Your father has a project,” Catelyn told Sansa. “You know how he gets when he’s upset. He throws himself into work, and stays busy.”

Sansa hung up with her mother, feeling a bit at loose ends after the phone call.

She could have called other “friends,” but if she’d learned anything from these past few weeks, those particular friends were not to be trusted.

Arya had kindly informed her that even Jeyne Poole, her friend since primary school, had spreading the rumor that Sansa had gone into hiding after being shunned by Joffrey. She’d remarked on how _suspicious_ it was that Sansa showed up to the reception and was close by when Joffrey met his untimely demise. Then, what did Sansa do? She disappeared again. Jeyne informed many people, it seemed, that Sansa’s own mother got a tight-lipped look about her when inquiries were made regarding Sansa. Was it because Sansa had something to hide? Did she know something? 

“I _told_ you that joining that stupid sorority in college was a mistake,” Arya said flippantly. “Where are those girls now? Some sisterhood.”

Sansa wanted to scream, or hit something.

Why did she feel as if she could never live her life on her own terms? Did she really care what the over-privileged, small-minded gossips had to say? Furthermore, had she actually followed all those stupid, confining rules and devoted her life to fit in with them? Had she actually, truly believed that this was the key to happiness?

So, it was no wonder that when Sandor returned, Sansa was like a caged animal ready pounce. 

“Thank the gods,” she said as Sandor let himself in. “I was about to...wait, what’s wrong?”

Sandor looked at her in surprise. 

“What do you mean?”

“Something’s wrong. What is it?”

“What makes you think something is wrong?”

“I can just tell, Sandor. You don’t give anything away usually, but I can still tell. There is just a tiny hint of wrinkle around your eyes and forehead.”

“You’re saying I have wrinkles? Since when?”

“Sandor...”

“All right. Sit down....No, don’t look at me like that, don’t panic, nobody is in trouble just yet.”

Sandor gave Sansa the rundown of her father’s heroic plan. 

Sansa flopped back onto the couch. 

“Obviously he can’t go through with it. Poor dad and his misguided sense of honor. Why? Why now? It no longer matters.”

“That’s what I said. It would seem that the Lannisters offend him and he wishes to unseat them from their thrones. So to speak.”

“The Lannisters offend everyone. With the exception of Tyrion. He seems to be somewhat decent.”

“Aye, and he seems fond of you as well.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“He says you were kind to him and he’s never forgotten it.”

“He did? Oh, that’s sweet. Poor Tyrion. They’re so cruel to him.”

“You seem to have a heart for the strays and the underdogs, little bird. Is there something you’re not telling me about you and the younger Mr. Lannister?”

“Sandor, are you being jealous again? I can assure you, that’s a wasted emotion. You’re my favorite stray, and to be perfectly honest, my hands are more than full with you.”

“Very cute, little bird.”

Sansa slid closer to Sandor and leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his waist. 

“You haven’t kissed your wife yet.”

“Hmmm,” Sandor gazed down at his petulant wife, her lips formed in a becoming pout. “I’ve been distracted.”

“I’m reminding you,” Sansa bit back. 

Sandor leaned down and kissed her most thoroughly, until they were both breathless. 

Sansa climbed onto his lap and began rubbing herself against him.

“Little bird, if you don’t stop, we’ll end up in the bedroom for the rest of the evening.”

Sansa was already fumbling with his pants. 

“We need to speak to your mother before your father goes through with his idiotic plan.”

Sansa dropped his belt buckle with an outraged look. 

“My father is not an idiot.”

“No, he’s not. But that was quite effective in distracting _you_.”

Sansa sighed. “I spoke to my mother. She’s been helping him gather documents, running errands. She swore she’d never become his secretary, but she’s the best one he has.”

“Did she give any indication of...anything?”

“Just that he was working on a project, that’s all she said.”

It was Sandor’s turn to sigh. “I’m calling in reinforcements.”

“After you do that, I need to get out of here. I’m going crazy.”

“All right little bird, go smooth your ruffled feathers. This won’t take long.”

While Sansa flounced away to go find something suitable to wear for a secret excursion with her secret husband, Sandor pulled out his phone, found his contact, and hit send, waiting as it rang. 

“What?”

“Is that how you always answer your phone? ‘ _What_?’You must have some sort of better phone etiquette than that.”

“I do have your number stored in my phone, you know. I knew it was you.”

“What _is_ my name in your phone? I’m just curious.”

“It would have been ‘Brother From Another Mother’, but Jon had that one first, so I went with ‘Black-Sheep-In-Law’.”

“Jon must feel honored to hold that title. Good gods.”

“Jon actually does have a sense of humor, despite appearances. What do you want?”

“I need your help. It’s going to be extremely dangerous, but important. We’re going to save some lives, but we might risk our own.”

“I’m in.”

“Wait, before you agree, we need to meet and go over a few things. You might change your mind once you hear the whole plan.”

“Sandor, I _live_ for dangerous and important shit. Like I said, I’m in, but I’ll meet you and go over the boring bit with you, old man. Just promise you won’t take all the fun out of it.”

“Your sister doesn’t think I’m an old man.”

Arya snorted. “Probably because she’s always acted like a stuffy old lady. I don’t want any details about your sex life. Moving on. When are we meeting?”

“The sooner the better.”

“Okay...tonight. 9pm. Your place.”

“Done.”

Sandor hung up the phone and waited for Sansa. 

Finally she appeared wearing a long sundress that hugged every curve. Her hair was down, loose waves flowing over her shoulders and down her back. 

“You’re wearing that?.”

Sansa looked confused. “Why? Should I wear something else?”

“You look.... I can’t take you out like that. I’ll have to fight off every man we come across.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “You’re being silly.”

“After you,” Sandor let her walk ahead of him so he could admire the view. 

“Sandor, did you hear me? I asked you if you were hungry.”

“Hmm.”

Sansa shook her head. “Let’s go get some sushi. I’ll pick, since you’re off in the clouds.”

Sandor was surprisingly knowledgeable about sushi, which made Sansa stare at him in surprise as he placed his order. 

“What?”

“I would have never taken you for a sushi fan.”

“So you brought me to one of the best sushi restaurants in town to punish me?”

“You were too busy staring at me like a piece of meat and giving everyone else threatening looks who even glanced our way. I thought you might want something light to balance out your primitive mood.”

“Very good call, little bird. I do like sushi, though.”

“Me too.”

“We do tend to have quite a bit in common.”

Sansa smiled. “Are you surprised by that?”

“I thought _you_ would be. The beauty and the beast, living in harmony. Who knew?”

Sansa smirked. “I think your idea of a beast and my idea of a beast are a bit different.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes. I like beasts with dark hair and dark eyes and big, strong arms.”

“Do you now?” Sandor glanced furtively around the restaurant. “I’m sorry, I don’t see any other beasts matching that description here. I guess I’ll have to do.”

“You’ll do just fine,” Sansa gave him a soft look as the waiter came over to deposit their plates upon the table. 

“A rainbow roll, compliments of Mr. Greyjoy,” the waiter told them, setting down an additional plate.

Sansa looked surprised, then pleased. “Theon? Is he here?”

“He’s in his office at the moment.”

“Oh, would you thank him for us? And tell him to come have a chat if he has a spare moment.”

“Of course,” the waiter answered. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No, thank you. Sandor?”

“Everything looks fine, thank you.”

The waiter walked away and Sandor stared thoughtfully at his food.

“That was so sweet of Theon. These are so expensive but they’re my favorite. He remembered. I didn’t realize he’s already taken over the restaurant. His father must have retired.”

“He’s in there with Ramsay Bolton.”

“What?”

“Theon is in his office with Ramsay Bolton. I saw them go back together when we arrived. Don’t look now, but see that girl at the bar? Skinny, dark hair, kind of shifty looking?”

Sansa took her time, sipping her wine. She plucked the wine menu from the table and skimmed it, then glanced up at the bar. 

A tall, thin brunette clad in a black dress was posted at the bar. She had a small glass tumbler in her hand, and appeared to be quite content with her own company. Every once in a while she glanced around a bit. Her face was pretty but there was a cold look about her that gave Sansa an uneasy feeling. Her full lips were pursed as if in thought, her big blue eyes were calculating. 

Sansa looked back at the menu a moment and set it down carefully. “Well, she and Ramsay seem to be well suited to one another.”

“Yes, she seems as mad as he is. They’ve been together, more or less, since they were fairly young. Myranda is her name. Her dad worked for his, and they took to one another almost immediately. But Ramsay refuses to marry her. She isn’t posh enough, apparently. She’s his accomplice and bed warmer, but Ramsay is too obsessed with social climbing to even consider marrying her.”

Sansa eyed the rainbow roll doubtfully. 

“Why are Theon and Ramsay meeting?” She asked softly. 

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it.” Sandor took his chopsticks and scrambled the rainbow roll around, pretending to eat it. “Something isn’t right.”

They managed to eat enough to satisfy Myranda’s curious gaze that flitted their way from time to time, then paid and left discreetly. 

“I’ll get the car,” Sandor said. “I don’t want you walking into a dark parking lot.”

Sansa waited, as Sandor hurried to the car.

The door opened and shut, a female form stepping off to the side to light a cigarette. 

“Sansa Stark, is it?”

Sansa turned to see Myranda gazing her way in the dim light, lips pursed as she blew out a stream of smoke.

Sansa smiled and nodded. 

“It’s the hair I recognized,” Myranda’s tone was light and friendly. “Such pretty hair. You’re actually quite famous for it.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think we’ve met,” Sansa said gently. 

“Forgive my manners! I’m Myranda. I’m not anyone important, just a friend of the Bolton family.”

“Ah,” Sansa played along. “You must be Ramsay’s girlfriend.”

A flicker of excitement danced in the girl’s eyes, which quickly simmered into a look of anger.

“Ramsay and I? We’re just old friends,” she said tightly, maintaining her friendly facade. 

“My mistake,” Sansa said kindly. “I’ve not had much opportunity to be out lately.”

“No, you _poor_ thing. Those horrible murders and that attack on you?” Myranda shook her head sadly. “You’ve had such a rough go lately. In fact, Ramsay would probably insist that I offer you condolences on his behalf. He’s been meaning to get in touch with you since the gala, I believe. Some sort of interest there,” Myranda winked, falling back into her role.

Sansa suppressed a shudder. “That is so kind of you both. I hope you and Ramsay enjoy the rest of your evening.” She added as Sandor drove the car around and jumped out to open Sansa’s door. 

He gave Myranda an unreadable glance as Sansa hurried over. 

“I was blocked in,” he murmured as he helped Sansa in the car. “Odd, since there were so many other spots in the lot to park.”

Sansa smiled tightly at him. “Not an accident, I’d guess.” 

She leaned over to wave at Myranda, who returned the wave with an exaggerated girlish gesture.

“What the fuck did she want?” Sandor asked as they drove away. 

Sansa breathed a sigh of relief as the restaurant disappeared from her view in the rear view mirror. 

“I don’t really know, but she gives me the creeps. I called her Ramsay’s girlfriend and she got pissed, though she hid it pretty well. Then she said something about Ramsay wanting to get in touch with me,” she shuddered. “It was weird.”

“If that fucker tries to come near you, I’ll break his neck.”

“I know Sandor, and that’s why I have to avoid him. Which is something you can help me with.”

“Aye,” Sandor grunted. “I’d rather rid the world of that sadistic little prick, and his psycho little sidekick too. But we’ll just avoid them for now.”

“Good,” Sansa replied.

“Now, we’ve got to meet your sister. And Gendry, I’ll assume.”

“What for?”

“She’s going to help me with something.”

“ _Arya_ is going to help _you_? With what?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Don’t play games with me, Sandor.”

“I’m not, believe me. This is actually quite serious and I want everyone on the same page. We’re going to stop your father from taking this case of his to the high courts.”

“And you think Arya can help you with that? She isn’t patient enough to follow a plan. She’ll just end up burning the place down.”

Sandor laughed in response. “I’m counting on it.”


	32. Chapter 32

Arya stood outside in her backyard, among the hedges. She stared into the night sky, listening at the sounds of the evening. 

“Arya!” Catelyn’s voice rang out in the dark. “What are you doing out there?”

“Looking at the stars,” Arya answered. 

“Looking at the stars?” Catelyn sounded suspicious. 

“Yes,” Arya called back, thinking quickly, before her mother became curious. “Some people say you can predict events with the stars. I’m trying to figure it out.”

“Oh,” Catelyn sounded fairly amused. “All right then. Just don’t wander too far in the dark.”

Arya breathed a sigh of relief as she heard Catelyn close the patio door.

”Apparently that was enough of a kooky, Arya-like thing to say,” she said aloud. 

“You’re into astrology?” Gendry’s voice came from just below her elbow, crouched under a hedge. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

“Hush, before someone hears you,” Arya hissed. 

“I thought it was a pretty good excuse,” a deep voice came from less than a yard away. 

Arya nearly jumped out of her skin. 

“Did I sneak up on you?” Sandor’s white grin was bright in the dark. 

“Just unexpected,” Arya whispered furiously. “You’re early.”

“Early bird gets the worm,” he replied, crouching his huge frame down behind one of the hedges.

“Isn’t saying that intended for mornings?” Gendry asked. 

“Doesn’t matter”, Sandor replied. “Morning, evening, it’s all the same for the opportunist.”

“Will you two please be quiet?” Arya sighed. “I’m waiting for mom to leave the kitchen.”

After what seemed like an eternity, the kitchen light did go off. 

“Now what?” Gendry asked. 

“We wait a few minutes. Mom and Dad usually go to the den and watch something on T.V. before bed.”

Gendry stood with a soft groan. “I feel like I’ve been down there forever. My legs are killing me.”

“Yeah, well, at least you’re not as old as Sandor. It’ll take him a minute to get up.”

Sandor was already up and near the patio door. 

“Remember the plan,” he hissed. “Arya first, then Gendry, then me.”

“Old, huh?” Gendry chuckled. 

“Come on,” Arya muttered as she opened the patio door. 

The lighting was dim as they crept inside. As they neared the staircase, the laughtrack from a sitcom could be heard faintly from the den area. 

“All right,” Arya told them. “Let’s do this.”

The trio crept upstairs as silently as possible. 

Arya paused at the top and held up her hand to stop them. 

“Arya?” Catelyn’s voice came from downstairs. 

“Yes?” Arya answered. 

“Just checking,” Catelyn replied. 

The three of them crept down the hall towards Ned’s study. 

“Gendry, you know what to do,” Arya whispered. 

Gendry nodded and assumed his position in front of Arya’s room. 

Sandor and Arya continued down the hall towards Ned’s study. As quietly as possible, Arya cracked open the door and she and Sandor entered the dark space. 

“This room is right above the den,” Arya whispered. “We have like two minutes, tops, before we’re busted.”

“Good to know,” Sandor grumbled, checking the floor for any obvious creaky spots. 

“You like the element of danger,” Arya told him as she padded over to Ned’s desk. “Admit it.”

Sandor pulled out a small flashlight and followed her. 

As quietly as possible, the two sifted through various stacks of papers. 

“Robert Baratheon’s stock shares, stock holdings, ownerships, boring, boring....” Arya flipped through a stack. 

Sandor shuffled through another stack. “Here’s a copy of Robert’s planner from 25 years ago.”

“25 _years_ ago?” Arya repeated. “Who the hell keeps up with something like that?”

“Well someone did, and now your father has it.” Sandor answered as he skimmed the pages. “Here, something is highlighted....Robert Baratheon was away from Kings Landing from January of that year until nearly July. He was out surveying land and buying property.”

“So?” Arya continued to rifle through her stack of papers. 

“So, it stands to reason that unless Cersei joined him at any point in time during that trip, how could he have gotten her pregnant? Joffrey was born the following spring. Do the math.”

Arya dropped her papers thoughtfully. “That’s good. A bit of a reach, but a valid argument. _If_ it can be proved that Cersei was never near him at any point in time.”

“Your dad won’t really need this proof,” Sandor answered. “Still, it’s interesting that he has it.”

“Why won’t he need it?” Arya moved on impatiently to another stack of papers.

“Because he got Joffrey’s DNA from his corpse.”

Arya’s mouth dropped open. 

“Oh, and Robert’s, too.” Sandor added causally. “Actually, a schedule from about 20 years ago would be a bit more helpful....”

The creaking of footsteps stopped Sandor and Arya’s progress in its tracks. 

“Your parents are coming upstairs,” Gendry hissed through the door, then scurried away. 

“Damn it,” Sandor muttered, shutting off his light. “Two minutes was right.”

Arya and Sandor stood still and quiet, listening to Catelyn and Ned walk down the hall. The light of the moon illuminated their frozen frames. 

“Oh, for goodness sake, Ned,” Catelyn was saying. “You work entirely too hard during the day as it is. Can’t you leave it alone at night?”

“I just need to organize a few things, Catelyn. I won’t be able to sleep if I’m not prepared. You know how I am.”

“All right,” Catelyn answered begrudgingly. 

“ _Shit_ ,” it was Arya’s turn to hiss. “Hide!”

“Where?” Sandor whispered, eyes scanning the room frantically. Nothing in here would hide his huge frame. 

Ned came closer, his steps right outside the room. 

“Fuck,” Sandor groaned. He stared desperately at the window, wondering if he could dive out in time. 

Arya wedged herself between two filing cabinets and pulled a fake palm plant in front of her. 

“Brilliant”, Sandor muttered and rolled his eyes. 

Arya scowled and motioned frantically at him.

“ _Hide_!” Arya mouthed at him.

Sandor crept toward the door, wincing as it began to open on him. Once Ned opened it fully, he’d be caught for sure. Then when the lights came on, he’d have some major explaining to do. There was no rational explanation for him to be in Ned Stark’s office with Arya. 

“Mr. Stark?” Gendry’s voice blessedly came from the hallway. 

“Gendry?” Ned sounded confused. “What are you doing here? Is Arya up here?”

“Gendry?” Catelyn’s voice came from the hall.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Mrs. Stark, but I can’t find Arya. She isn’t in her bedroom. I looked. I know I shouldn’t have...”

“Gendry, you aren’t allowed in the bedrooms. You know the rules. They’re the same for all our children and their guests.”

“Right, I do understand that Mrs. Stark. It’s just, I’ve been trying to call Arya and she’s not answering. I got worried and came here, but nobody answered the door.”

“So, you just let yourself in? Oh, _Gendry_. That’s not very polite.”

“No, and I’m sorry, but I was really worried Mrs Stark. I thought she’d be outside. You know how she’s into looking at the stars lately. But I’ve looked around and she’s not out there.”

“Oh,” Catelyn paused. “Ned, should we look for her?”

“You know how Arya is,” Ned replied distractedly. “She’s probably just wandered off somewhere.”

“This late at night? Without telling anyone?” Catelyn’s voice was laced with concern.

“The gym?” Ned suggested. 

“I just left from there, Mr. Stark. They’re closed now.”

“Ned...” Catelyn began to sound worried. 

“All right,” Ned responded. He shut his office door. “Catelyn, you check the bedrooms. Gendry, you come with me. We’ll cover the grounds.”

Sandor listened as Catelyn opened and shut all the doors, calling for her daughter. 

“What’s going on?” Rickon could be heard asking sleepily. 

“Nothing, sweetheart. Sorry to wake you. Everything’s fine. Go back to sleep.”

Catelyn padded past the office then paused.

“ _Shit, shit, shit_ ,” Sandor thought to himself. 

“Catelyn?” Ned called from downstairs.

Catelyn hurried off. 

Arya jumped up from her hiding place, shoving the plant back into its original place. 

“Go to Sansa’s bedroom and hide!” Arya hissed. “I’ll come get you when it’s safe to come out.”

Sandor and Arya scurried out of the office, and Sandor gently closed the door behind him. He rushed down the hall to Sansa’s bedroom and closed the door behind him. 

“Arya,” Rickon called. “I think mom is looking for you.”

“I’ll go get her,” Arya answered him. “Go back to sleep, Rickon.”

Sandor opened Arya’s closet and ducked inside, closing the door behind him. 

Sandor had a long wait, inside the closet with the evening gowns and dresses Sansa had left behind. He listened to Ned and Catelyn lecture Arya all the way up the stairs. 

“I’m sorry,” Arya told them. “How was I supposed to know that Gendry would sound the alarm if he couldn’t get ahold of me for five minutes? I was here the whole time.”

“Arya, you worried him, and more importantly, you worried your poor father. He’s exhausted as it is. He doesn’t need anymore stress on him. Can you please be considerate and at least let someone know where you are next time? For goodness sake, that’s why you have a phone. We shouldn’t have to chase you around the entire estate.”

“All right, all right. Sorry, dad.”

Sandor listened as Arya went into her bedroom, adjacent to Sansa’s. Catelyn must have gone into her own room, and Ned to his office. He was there for what seemed like ages.   


Sandor passed the time by checking his phone.

Sansa had sent him a message. 

_ “When are you coming home?” _

Sandor warmed at that. Home. With Sansa. He’d rather be there right now, instead of on this fool’s mission. 

_ “I’m a bit tied up at the moment, my love. I miss you. Are you all right?” _

_ “Yes, I’m fine. Just missing you.”  _

_“I’ll be home as soon as I can_ ,” Sandor responded. 

Sandor just prayed that Cersei didn’t try to reach out to him. That would be a bit harder to manage. When duty called, his employer wasn’t one to be kept waiting. 

After nearly an hour, Sandor heard Arya creep into the room.

“Hey,” she whispered. “Are you here?”

Sandor opened the closet door and Arya gasped.  
  


“You scared the shit out of me!” She whispered accusingly.

  
“What happened to liking the element of danger?” Sandor smirked.   
  


“Not funny, Sandor. I’m supposed to set the security alarm. Go now, and I’ll set it after you.”

Sandor hurried off without question. 

He was nearly home when he got a text. 

_ “This isn’t where the real dirt is. How about main headquarters?” _

Sandor sighed and answered her when he stopped at a traffic light.

“ _Nothing will be hidden there. Too smart for that.”_

As he pulled into his drive, another text came through. 

_ “Haven’t you ever heard of hiding things in plain sight? It’s worth a shot. Unless you’re scared.” _

Sandor scowled as he typed out his response. 

_“Maybe. I’m not saying it’s going to happen. It’s a maybe_.”

He could nearly hear Arya’s crow of triumph. 

“ _See you soon,_ _brother_.”

Sandor walked in to find Sansa asleep on the couch, with the T.V. playing at a low volume. 

He bent to kiss her gently. 

“Sandor?” Sansa blinked awake. “What time is it?”

“Late,” Sandor told her, brushing her hair back.

“What kept you?” Sansa sat up.

Sandor smiled. “Your sister. But Gendry saved our asses. I’ll have to remember to thank him.”

Sansa smiled back. “Are you ready to take me to bed?”

Sandor scooped her up with a playful growl as she giggled. 

“Always,” he assured her. 


	33. Chapter 33

Ramsay Bolton was incorrigible. That’s what his stepmother Walda told his father, Roose. She would say it when Roose was lecturing Ramsay on the proper decorum of whatever task he’d failed at, particularly in the company of others. 

“He’s your son, Roose. He’s just incorrigible,” Walda would say, a smile turning her cheeks into round apples.

Roose would give her a look of warning each time.  


After a while, Walda would look down at the ground, her dinner plate, anywhere but Roose and Ramsay when the insults began. 

Ramsay didn’t need Fat Walda to fight his battles for him, anyway. Everyone knew that his father married her for a legitimate Bolton heir. Her people came from a fertile stock, and the dowry amount that his father received for her was rumored to be worth her weight. She was serving her purpose and Ramsay didn’t want her interference. 

Ramsay tended to his own affairs. He helped manage the affairs of the Dreadfort, a company that supplied weapons, hunting dogs, and military equipment to the majority of Northern Westeros. He enjoyed it for the most part, but the thought of sharing what he considered rightfully his with a snot-nosed sibling did _not_ bring him any enjoyment in the slightest.

On this particular evening, Ramsay lay in his king-sized bed with the silk sheets from Bravoos, and brooded.  


Myranda joined him. He scarcely noticed as she climbed astride him, rubbing herself against him enticingly. 

“You’re no fun tonight,” she told him, with a smirk. “Am I boring you, Ramsay?”

Ramsay shoved her off him with an impatient noise. 

Myranda caught herself, settling beside him, her head propped up in her hand. She was used to his mercurial moods, she barely batted an eye at this treatment. 

“Walda announced her pregnancy,” Ramsay spoke more to the ceiling than to Myranda. “She said that it’s too soon to tell, but she’s carrying high. Old crones’ tales say that if a woman carries high, it’s typically a boy.”

Myranda listened attentively, saying nothing. 

“So that means that my father has leverage. If I don’t bow to his every wish and command, he can write me out of his will entirely. He can leave it all to Fat Walda and her stinking offspring.”

Myranda cocked her head. “He _said_ that?”

“He doesn’t have to,” Ramsay told her angrily. “I know him, he’s always looking for a way to keep me under his thumb. Now I’ll be his dancing puppet on a strong. If I don’t play nice, that is.”

“You know how to play nice?” Myranda scratched her nails down his chest nicely. “Maybe you should practice.”

“Maybe I should.” Ramsay stared off thoughtfully. “I’ve been thinking, and I think it’s time I took a wife.”

Myranda’s hand fell. 

“I’ve even got a candidate in mind. Sansa Stark. Do you know her? Of course you do, everyone does. Now that Joffrey is completely out of the picture, she’s fair game. Jilted for Margery Tyrell? She’ll do nicely for a Bolton, surely.”

“How do you know she’ll agree?” Myranda asked, deliberately keeping her tone light. “She’s still Sansa Stark. It isn’t like she’s an old, desperate maid.”

Ramsay turned to face Myranda with a smirk. 

“Jealous?”

“Of the Ice Princess? Hardly. I’m merely pointing out the obvious. She’s still a prime candidate for any rich man under the age of 90.”

“Which is what I am, of course.”

“Of course,” Myranda said in a wooden tone. 

“So now I have to swoop in before anyone else does.”

“Flattering,” Myranda told him, rolling over on her back. 

“Oh, please,” Ramsay snorted. “She’s know what’s expected of her since she was a child. Besides, what’s wrong with me? Why shouldn’t I be as good as the next?”

“You’re better than most,” Myranda said softly. “I can’t imagine her wanting some other boring, sniveling little twat. Mommy and Daddy’s money can’t buy a personality.”

Ramsay looked at Myranda for a moment. 

“Myranda...”

“Yes?”

Very good. You used to say ‘what?’ It drove me mad. Anyway, I’ll need your help.”

“ _My_ help?”

“Yes, try to keep up. With Sansa.”

Myranda got up out of bed and stormed away.

Ramsay sighed loudly and followed her. 

“You _know_ what’s expected of me, Myranda,” Ramsay said from behind her, laying his chin on her shoulder. “I can’t afford anything less.”

“You _could_ , Ramsay. You don’t need her to be somebody. You already are.”

Ramsay snorted. “Am I?”

Myranda turned to face him. “You know you are.”

“Oh, Myranda...don’t tell me lies to placate me. That’s so _boring_. You know I hate boring people.”

“I’m sorry?” Myranda said sweetly, turning to face him. “It sounded like you called _me_ boring. Your pretty little princess is the one who will bore you, Ramsay. Tell me, do you at least think she’s pretty?”

“Of course I do,” Ramsay snorted. “I’m not blind.”

Myranda whirled away from him.

“Is this jealousy?” Ramsay asked in amusement. “How pathetic.”

Myranda said nothing. 

Ramsay huffed. “So, she’ll bore me. Luckily for her, I need her. That part will keep her safe from my _boredom_.”

“Of course it will,” Myranda replied. “Fair enough. You know Ramsay, perhaps it’s for the best. Perhaps I’ll marry too.”

“Who will you marry?” Ramsay seemed truly amused. “Maybe some butcher needs a wife. A lady who isn’t afraid of blood. You’d enjoy that.”

“Maybe I would,” Myranda shot back.

Ramsay’s fingers dug into Myranda’s soft skin as he whirled her around to face him. 

“You’re mine,” he told her in a deadly, quiet voice. “Sansa Stark doesn’t change that.”

Myranda stared at him with hurt in her eyes. 

“This jealousy act is getting tiresome,” Ramsay told her. “You know what happens to people who bore me. You’re not going to bore me, are you Myranda?”

Myranda leaned in to kiss him gently. Suddenly, without warning, she took his bottom lip between her teeth and bit down as hard as she could. 

Ramsay drew back with a gasp. Blood stained her mouth, trickled from his. His mouth drew into a delighted grin. 

“Never,” Myranda smiled back at him.

Much later, while the sweat cooled from their bodies in bed, Ramsay held Myranda against him. 

“I was also thinking,” he told her. “A lifelong commitment to a dull wife isn’t something I’m after. Maybe five years. Surely that would be enough time to bear children and get myself integrated with the Stark family.”

“What do you plan on doing after five years?” Myranda asked sleepily. 

“I thought I’d take her for a hunt,” Ramsay said pleasantly.

“Am I invited on this hunt?” Myranda asked.

“Of course you are,” Ramsay answered. “It’ll be my greatest trophy yet.”

“Or mine,” Myranda shrugged daintily.

“We’ll see,” Ramsay answered, climbing on top of her.

Sandor slept more soundly than ever with Sansa next to him. 

Sansa was a very sound sleeper as well. Luckily, because when his phone went off at the crack of dawn that morning, she didn’t hear the embarrassing noise he made when he was startled awake. 

“Clegane,” he tried his best to not sound half out of his wits when he answered. 

“You’re needed at the office, immediately.” Cersei told him brusquely. Then she hung up.

Sandor held back a groan and forced himself into a cold shower. 

Sansa was waiting with a cup of coffee when he came out of the bathroom.

“Gods, you’re amazing. Thank you,” Sandor kissed her and drank it quickly. 

“It’s my fault you’re so tired,” she teased, stretching up to hold him. 

“Have you heard me complain?” Sandor kissed her neck. 

“Not once,” Sansa sighed. “You better go before Cersei gets annoyed.”

Sandor sighed as well. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Maybe you can work on your thesis, Little Bird, without me here to distract you.”

“I like you distracting me,” Sansa pouted. 

“With any luck, I’ll be back here to divert you before too long.”

Sandor arrived to chaos. Every room on the top floor was a mess of papers and files. Boxes were everywhere, Lannister employees were feverishly combing through file after file.

“Good of you to join us, Clegane,” Jaime Lannister came up beside him in front of Cersei’s office. “Just to warn you, Cersei’s normally sweet disposition is definitely soured this morning.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Sandor answered.

He knocked, and let himself in after a few moments of silence.

Cersei was in a hushed conversation on the phone, presumably with Tywin.

“I can handle it,” she was saying. “As I told you, nothing of importance has come up missing.”

A lengthy silence, followed by Cersei saying “Right,” in a clipped tone. 

She hung up and her eyes bore into Sandor. 

“We’ve had a break-in, it seems. When Jaime and I arrived this morning, the entire floor was chaos. Nothing below this floor was touched. Nothing was caught on camera below stairs. The only thing we can tell is that two people were here. The camera near the elevator shows a glimpse of two individuals running down the hall.”

Cersei played the video from her laptop. Two figures, dressed in black, wearing masks. They darted down the hall and toward Tyrion’s office. One was a average height, average size. Likely male. Could have been anyone.  


The other, however, was slight, agile, light of foot. Moved like a boxer, and Sandor prayed to the gods that Cersei or Tywin didn’t realize this one was a female form. 

“The other cameras, mysteriously, all malfunctioned. So far, nothing of importance seems to be out of place, but the fact is that our security has been breached. I’ve hired on your brother as my own personal security around the clock. I’m assigning you to Jaime, though he insists he doesn’t need a guard. Still, you’ll be good help for tactical purposes. You’re a military man, aren’t you? Put it to use. Keep us safer than we were before.” Cersei waved him off. 

Sandor stood and numbly went out into the hall. 

Jaime was waiting for him. 

“We’re off to hire guards,” he told him. “Cersei is insisting on round the clock security, in addition to new cameras, as she no longer trusts our outdated, fickle technology.”

Glancing at Sandor, Jaime frowned. 

“Working with family isn’t always a picnic, I’ll grant you that,” Jaime told him. “But luckily for you, Cersei spends more time out of the office these days instead of in it. Whereas, I do too. So it’s unlikely you’ll run into Gregor very often.”

“I’m not worried,” Sandor replied. 

“Right,” Jaime answered doubtfully. “Just can’t afford to have you distracted, that’s all. Well, let’s get this over with.”

Sandor arrived home late in the evening. It had been the longest day he’d had in quite a while. The Kinsguard Agency hadn’t been very promising, but he and Jaime had found staff that they were satisfied with. The new security had been installed. And Gregor had been in the office all day with Cersei, glaring at Sandor in a way that made Sandor want to throw him off the roof.

Sandor unlocked the door, finding Sansa inside, with Arya. 

Sandor was in a foul mood, and ready to kill the little wolf pup.

“I gather you’ve had a very trying day,” Arya said sweetly. 

“I wonder why that would be,” Sandor muttered, going to the kitchen to pour himself a stiff drink. 

“I already had the lecture from Catelyn Junior,” Arya told him. She slapped a stack of papers on the table. “I’ll leave you with these. I suggest burning after reading.”

As Arya and Sansa said their goodbyes, Sandor flopped down on the couch with his drink and leafed through the papers. 

“Well?” Sansa asked him.

Sandor handed the papers to her. Sansa read them and handed them back to Sandor in amazement. 

“Mother has tried for years to get Arya to become interested in a nice, decent boy. Which of course means a boy with a famous name and pedigree. Won’t she be pleased.” Sansa looked stunned.

“This information can never get out,” Sandor told her, draining his drink. “The boy will never be safe if it does.”

“It’s not fair, Sandor. He has a right to know.”

“He does know, Sansa. Now he can have the knowledge, and leave well enough alone.”

“Sandor...”

“Look, I’m not trying to sound heartless. But it’s in Gendry’s best interest to leave well enough alone.”

Sansa looked at him stubbornly. “This would take the Lannisters down a peg or two. They think they run the world. It would be fitting for them to get their comeuppance.”

“You sound just like your father,” Sandor groaned.

Sansa glared at him.

“Look, I agree, but do you realize what it might cost? It’s not worth what it would cost, I can tell you that.”

Sansa sighed. 

“I’m not even going to ask-“

“The roof,” Sansa replied. “They got in from the roof.”

Sandor chuckled, shaking his head. “Gods,” he groaned. 

Sansa sighed and marched off to the bedroom. 

“I’m getting back to work,” she said over her shoulder. Then she shut the bedroom door behind her. 

Sandor waited a few minutes before he followed her. 

“I’m a grumpy boor,” he told Sansa, who was staring morosely at her laptop. “I’m sorry. You’re right, and so is your dad. I’m just worried about what would happen to your family if this all got out.”

“You’re not a boor,” Sansa told him. “You’re right. It would bring a world of trouble upon Gendry, and to be fair, it’s not something he asked for. Arya said he’s not interested in anything Robert might have given him. Because the fact is, he didn’t. If he had wanted to, he would have. But Robert was too scared of the Lannisters and didn’t care enough to think past the little bit of monetary support he offered. It wasn’t enough. They were living in Flea Bottom and barely getting by.”

Sansa sighed. “I’ve been in this apartment for too long. I’m going stir crazy. Next I’ll suggest we ride in on a dragon and burn down half of Kings Landing.”

Sandor chuckled. 

“Let’s burn those papers instead, eat dinner, and then you can take me for a drive.” Sansa suggested.

“You think you’re driving the Mustang?”

“I don’t think it, _husband_. I know it. And you’re going to teach me.”

Sandor shook his head. “You Starks aren’t used to taking the word ‘no’ for an answer, are you?” 

“Not often,” Sansa informed him. 

Sandor lit the papers on fire in the sink and watched as they burned to ash while Sansa dressed. 

“Fuck,” he grumbled, as he wrenched open a window. “Going to set off the fucking smoke alarm.”

Sansa laughed as she watched him struggling to open a window. 

“I’m glad I amuse you, Little Bird,” Sandor said as he finally wrenched the bloody thing open. 

“You’re adorable,” she told him. 

“Hardly.”

“Boorish, but adorable.”

“There it is.”

Sansa rinsed the ashes down the drain.

“Food?” Sandor asked.

“Pizza,” she replied. 

“A midnight drive, all snuggled up safely in the passenger seat?”

“Nice try.”

“Worth a shot.”


	34. Chapter 34

“A holiday? _Now_?” Tyrion faced his sister in her office. His annoyance was barely held in check.

Cersei smiled tightly at her brother. 

“I’m sure to a man who spends each one of his days on holiday with wine and women, it’s inconceivable that one might need to take a little break. But I’ve lost my son and my husband. I’ve been dealing with the chaos that has erupted in this company since their deaths, and I haven’t had a chance to see my other children for longer than a hello and goodbye. I believe if anyone needs a holiday, it would be me.”

Tyrion glowered at his sister.

“Fair enough,” he finally allowed. “Myrcella and Tommen also deserve a nice holiday, of course...but Cersei, a holiday with our _father_?”

Cersei opened her desk drawer and rooted around until she produced a bottle of pills. She uncapped the container, poured out three, and swallowed them with whatever she was keeping in her “coffee” tumbler these days. 

“No need to remind me,” Cersei told him, rolling her eyes. “But it will do us all good to at least have a change of scenery.”

“He’s going to insist you marry again,” Tyrion told her. “That’s why you’re going to Highgarden instead of Dorne.”

“Dorne has been done. We’ve gone to Dorne every year for as long as I can remember. It’s time to change it up,” Cersei shrugged. “Besides, it paints a pretty picture, me visiting Joffrey’s in-laws. Good press, good PR. We need that right now.”

“I hear the roses are lovely this time of year,” Tyrion said mildly, not letting up. “Loras Tyrell is there right now, isn’t he? He’s considered particularly lovely as well.”

“Lovely Loras is nearly half my age. Surely you aren’t suggesting our father has some sort of scheme regarding myself and Loras Tyrell. That’s preposterous.”

Tyrion shrugged. “I’ve heard of stranger things.”

Cersei shook her head in amusement. 

“Luckily for you, our scheming father has also agreed to leave his pretty new secretary behind. Sheila, is it?”

“Shay?” Tyrion blurted out. 

“Mmm, Shay. That’s right. She’s sure to be quite a bit of help for you and Jaime. Something tells me she’ll be especially convenient for you.”

“Why do you insist on labeling the woman a whore, Cersei? Just because a woman is pretty and might, possibly, sleep with her boss doesn’t make her a whore.”

“Well, you’ve never minded sharing, have you Tyrion? I suppose that’s why you’re so open-minded regarding women like Shay. Would you feel more comfortable if I labeled her an opportunist? In her case, one Lannister man is as good as the next.”

“I’m not sleeping with her, Cersei.”

“Neither is father. Better get her bed warm, so she doesn’t grow bored and wander away.”

Tyrion was quickly growing tired of his sister and her rude speech. 

“Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?”

“So eager to get back to _work_? No, brother dear, I believe that’s all.”

“Have a pleasant journey,” Tyrion told her. He hopped off his chair and scurried away from the office. 

Half an hour later, Tyrion let himself into his penthouse and loosened his tie with a sigh. 

Shay, draped loosely in a sheet, wandered out of the bedroom.

“You were in such a hurry this morning,” she said, bending to kiss him. “I was so lonely in that big bed all alone.”

“Family meeting”, Tyrion told her with a grim smile.

“ _Ah_ ,” Shay said understandingly. “Come back to bed, darling. I’ll help you forget all that unpleasant business.”

Ramsay, across town, was preparing for a meeting of his own. 

Myranda had arrived and was happily stroking the new black dress he’d bought her. 

“Valentino”, she sighed happily. “What’s the occasion?”

“We’re going to Saltlands Sushi tonight,” Ramsay told her. He was staring in his closet with a frown. “Then my father has some sort of work thing with drinks. I need a companion. It’s casual. In Roose-speak, that means look your best without trying to look your best.”

Myranda wandered up behind him, staring thoughtfully into the closet. 

“You could wear black too, then,” she suggested. “Maybe your black Dior? A tux would be too stuffy, maybe the Moschino suit?”

“Maybe,” Ramsay agreed. “I’ve got some important business to tend to with Theon Greyjoy. You’ll be at the bar, watching out.”

“For?”

“Anything, Myranda. I’ll need privacy for my meeting. Go try the dress on.”

Myranda changed quickly, and modeled the dress for Ramsay. It was light and skimmed her body seductively, without looking flimsy or cheap.

Ramsay nodded in approval. “You’ll do.”

“Should I get my hair done?” Myranda looked in the mirror thoughtfully.

“It’s drinks, Myranda. Not a ball.”

Myranda smiled impishly. “I know.”

Ramsay sighed and pulled his phone from his pocket. “I’ll call Rosalie’s Salon. Hair?”

“It’s been a while since I’ve had my nails done. Maybe a mani/pedi? I could get sharp ones.” Myranda added causally, though her tone was suggestive. She wiggled her fingers.

Ramsay nodded, finding the contact. 

“Hi, Ros? It’s Ramsay Bolton. Yes, it’s been a while, I hope you’re doing well....Right, I’m sending a friend in. She needs a blow out, manicure, pedicure, and maybe makeup...right. Okay, she’ll see you soon.”

Ramsay hung up the phone and Myranda ran into his arms with a squeal. 

“Thank you, Ramsay.” 

“Just tell her to go light on the makeup. That’s why I added it on. You have a heavy hand with it. We want subtle, graceful. That means nothing extravagant.”

“Right,” Myranda said, hiding her annoyance. 

Later that evening, Ramsay left an elegant looking Myranda at the bar with a gin and tonic, while he joined Theon upstairs in his office. 

Theon smiled as he opened the office door.

“Ramsay! It’s been ages. Come on in, have a seat. Drink?”

“No, but I thank you, Theon. I hope I don’t have to take up too much of your time. I’m eager to get back downstairs. I’ve got a date.”

“I noticed! She’s _gorgeous_. Where have you been hiding her?”

Ramsay smiled enigmatically.

Theon’s attention was diverted to one of the screens on his wall.

“Gods, is that...it is! Sansa Stark!” Theon picked up the phone with an apologetic look at Ramsay.

Ramsay watched Sansa come in and sit at a round table near the windows. A huge man, whom Ramsay finally recognized as Sandor Clegane was with her. 

Sansa was wearing a casual sundress in a blue color that suited her perfectly. She was effortlessly beautiful, the kind of beauty that money couldn’t buy. 

“Marcuas? I want you to have chef prepare a roll and send it to Sansa Stark’s table... If I get a chance I’ll come down and visit her. I’m in a meeting now, hold my calls until I come down....thanks.”

Theon hung up the phone and smiled pleasantly at Ramsay. “So, what’s up, Ramsay? I hope you’ve been doing well.”

Ramsay smiled. “Of course. I just had some business to discuss with you.”

Theon smiled in a puzzled sort of way. “What kind of business?”

Ramsay pulled out an envelope from his suit pocket and passed it over to Theon.

Theon took it and opened it. It was full of pictures. He spread them around his desk with shaking hands.

Various photos of Theon and Loras faced the men. Theon and Loras on the coasts of Dorne, laughing and leaning into one another. Photos of Theon and Loras in bed, taken from a window, kissing and engaged in other intimate moments. Theon and Loras laughing and feeding one another on a picnic. 

“Where did you get these?” Theon whispered. 

“Don’t worry, I paid to keep these in my possession. I’m the only one with copies. Well, you have yours now. I realize that it’s a total breech of privacy, but they _are_ lovely, happy photos.”

“Ramsay,” Theon had gone from shock to anger. “Why? What are you doing?”

“It’s simple, really. Sansa Stark. I need you and Loras to do two things. Not try to court her hand, and also, put in a good word for me, how about that? Honestly, it’s unfair to expect her to wed either one of you under such false pretenses anyway. You’re doing everyone in this situation a favor. 

“You think you’re a better prospect, is that it, Ramsay? Gods! You’re completely mad! Everyone knows about you and Myranda, and your sick little hobbies.”

“Oh, Theon. Rumors, of course. They can be so damaging. That’s why you’re so careful, isn’t it? I think you could agree, however, that your childhood friend Sansa deserves much better than a farce of a marriage. Come to think of it, everyone in this situation deserves better. It’s a shame that your own affair can’t be more in the open, but what can you do? Society rules aren’t fair.”

Theon stuffed the photos back into the envelope.

“I think you should leave, Ramsay.”

“Of course,” Ramsay answered smoothly, rising up from his seat. “But just so we’re clear, I meant what I said. I have more of those photos, incriminating ones. Copies of love letters. Messages and emails.”

Ramsay nodded towards the envelope Theon held.

“Just so you know, if something happens to me, if you try to turn this around somehow, they’ll _all_ be released. I made sure of that. Just remember what I said. My one request. That’s all I ask. You and Loras both stay away from Sansa, your secret is safe.”

Ramsay pushed his chair in with a smile. “Good night, Theon. It was _great_ to see you.”

Ramsay went downstairs, didn’t see Myranda at the bar. Sansa and her bodyguard were also gone.

Ramsay went outside to find Myranda with a cigarette in the darkness. 

“What happened?” He demanded. 

“She left with that Clegane character. I offered your sympathy for her recent loss. Told her you’d be calling on her soon.”

Ramsay blinked at Myranda in surprise. “You did?”

“I did,” Myranda answered coolly. “How was your meeting?”

“Over,” Ramsay answered. “Let’s go.”

  
  


A week later, Arya was back in Sandor’s apartment. 

“Have fun, Sansa. How long do you think it will take for Sandor to call and check up on you? An hour? No, I bet he’ll just come out himself and stalk you.” Arya smiled sweetly.

Sandor sighed. Sansa was taking the afternoon to go to a Pilates class and do some shopping with Margery. Between Sansa’s sweet pleas and Arya’s mockery of his hound-like protective tendencies when it came to Sansa, he’d given in without much fuss.

“She needs a break from your bachelor pad,” Arya shrugged. “And your grouchy expression every time she talks to someone that isn’t you.”

“You act like I keep her prisoner,” Sandor grumbled. 

“Ever seen ‘Beauty and the Beast’?” Arya suggested. “It was all fun and romance and luxury when Belle was going along with the Beast. Never mind that she was there in the first place as a prisoner.”

“Arya, the Beast did love Belle,” Sansa interjected. 

“Yeah, after psychologically torturing her and hiding her away from the world,” Arya shot back.

Sansa sighed. “I’m having a girls’ day. It’s long overdue. Besides, Margery is always with at least two guards at all times. I’ll be fine. Sandor is reasonable and understands that.”

Sandor scowled at the oven he was cleaning. 

“I’m leaving him here to have some privacy and catch up on things.” Sansa was putting on her sandals. She grabbed a Lululemon gym back and zipped it firmly. “Everyone needs a break.”

“Right,” Arya smirked 

After Sansa left, Arya grabbed the remote land began flipping through channels. 

“What part of ‘break’ did you miss?” Sandor had finished with the oven. He washed his hands and moved on to the microwave. 

“Does Sansa not ever help you clean?” Arya watched him curiously.

“She...tries. She’s a pretty decent cook. She always makes our coffee in the morning. She’s good about laundry getting done, too. She’s started doing mine from time to time.”

Arya looked shocked. “Sansa does laundry?”

“Yes.”

“Like...she washes it? Dries it? Folds it?”

“I taught her. Like what to dry, what to hang to dry, what goes to the cleaners. She caught on pretty quick. Now she says she enjoys it.”

“I thought I caught a whiff of fabric softener on your gym clothes.” Arya smirked. “Very _floral_.”

“Is there something you wanted to talk to me about?” Sandor asked pointedly.

“Yes, so...Cersei and Tywin are going to Highgarden on holiday, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” Sandor replied. 

“That means only Jaime and Tyrion will be there to run things. And from the looks of it, they like to work remotely.”

“What’s your point?”

“This is the perfect time, Sandor. We can go in and not have to worry about getting caught.”

“Nice try, Arya. Cersei’s hired actual guards, ‘round the clock. New security systems and cameras. It’s not going to be quite as easy.”

“Yeah, but you were with Jaime when he ordered the new security. You know how it’s set up, who’s on what shift. You can get us around it!”

“Seven hells, Arya. No, you are not going back in there to play detective. For one thing, you were just there.”

“ _Allegedly_.”

“Right, well, you got enough information your first time around. Don’t push your luck.”

“Yeah, but that was before we found out about Gendry! Don’t you think he has a right to pursue his lineage?”

“What is it with you Starks and your bloody noble pursuits? Are you spoon fed it as children? Is it part of your genetic makeup?”

“This could change everything, Sandor. Don’t you realize that?”

“Of course I do. I also realize that it could change things in a very bad way for Gendry. Is that something that either of you are prepared for? Do you want to have a target on Gendry’s back for the rest of his life? It’s no way to live.”

“Yeah, but it’s not _fair_.”

“No, it’s not. But safer this way.”

Arya sighed and kicked at a throw pillow that had fallen on the floor. 

Sandor picked it up and moved it away from her. 

“What has Gendry to say about all this?”

“He says it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care about the name _or_ money.”

“Maybe you should listen to him.”

“I am, but it’s so _wrong_. He’s struggled and was alone almost his whole life. Now he finds out he’s possibly heir to this huge fortune, and has been all along. But those greedy pig Lannisters won’t ever allow him to claim what should be his.” Arya shook her head. “It’s _wrong_. They’re evil and somebody should take them all out.”

Sandor shrugged. “Maybe so. But it’s not up to Gendry to pursue a vendetta that he doesn’t want to pursue. You can’t force him into it. If he’s content to leave it alone, you need to respect that.”

Arya scowled at him. “I think you’re just being a pussy.”

Sandor laughed. 

“Fine,” Arya sniffed. “I’ll leave you to your chores. Have fun getting old and scrubbing out stains.”

“Aye, will do,” Sandor chuckled. “Think about what I said before you set off on some hot-headed mission.”

Arya slammed the door behind her. 

“Why do I have a feeling this is far from over?” Sandor asked himself as he washed the grime from his hands. 


	35. Chapter 35

“Sometimes, I don’t know why I even bother dining out. The ineptitude of the experience interferes with my digestion. Are there any staff over the age of eighteen here? Do young people no longer understand what ‘work ethic’ means?” 

Olenna Tyrell announced this as she frowned at her smudged water glass. 

The server had seemed baffled when Olenna had requested fresh water, fresh lemon, and a fresh salad with fresh greens immediately upon arrival. 

“Maybe they’re seem inexperienced because they’re still learning. The more seasoned staff do have to train their eventual replacements.” Margery grinned cheekily at her grandmother. She enjoyed baiting the older woman. 

Olenna snorted. “If this is the future, I’m glad my time is drawing nigh. Good for you, though dear. Your progressive attitude will be the only thing keeping this dining industry afloat.”

Sansa giggled. 

When Margery suggested that her grandmother meet them for a late lunch, Sansa hadn’t hesitated to agree. Olenna Tyrell was not like most grandmothers. She had a razor sharp wit, an even sharper tongue, and was always a great source of entertainment and amusement. 

Sansa did have to secretly admit that Olenna made her a little nervous. The fear was always at the forefront of her mind, doing or saying the wrong thing and receiving a dressing down from that notoriously salty tongue. Olenna was best enjoyed in small doses, as far as Sansa was concerned. 

Olenna was served her salad, fresh water, and a bowl of fresh lemons, which she accepted with a resigned sigh. 

After Sansa and Margery ordered aperitifs, Olenna smiled fondly at them. 

“It’s so good to see you both. I’m especially happy to see Margery out with a friend. She’s spent entirely too much time holed up with Joffrey’s siblings.”

Sansa couldn’t quite stop the surprised look that flitted across her face. 

“Yes,” Olenna said gravely, examining her salad with great interest. “Margery has adopted the strays. They adore her. You know, I believe that child actually honored my request for fresh greens. These don’t look like they were retrieved from the back of an icebox. Perhaps I have a small sliver of hope for the future after all.”

“Tommen and Myrcella are lovely people. It’s actually been nice having them around. They remind me a bit of Joffrey-“

“An unhappy facet of the newly blooming relationship,” Olenna muttered. 

“-and it’s good for them to not be all alone in their grief,” Margery continued, unfazed.

“I see,” Olenna said. “Sansa, however, apparently did not know you’d been spending so much time with your in-laws. One has to wonder why you’ve been keeping it a secret, dear.”

“To be fair, Margery and I both have been keeping a low profile,” Sansa told her. “We’ve got some catching up to do, it seems.”

“I just thought privacy was important during this time,” Margery shrugged. “I’m sure there are many people waiting in the wings to exploit their grief. Maybe they deserve a quiet mourning period first.”

“Please,” Olenna chuckled. “I know Joffrey was their family, but let’s face it. They likely mourn the ideal version of their big brother. The reality is that big brother was an evil wanker.”

“Grandmother!”

“Oh, Margery. You know it as well as I do.”

Sansa was equally shocked and amused. 

“Grandmother...” 

“All right, dear, forgive me for speaking ill of the dead. Tell me, what is this class that you two are attending later? Pillaging?”

“Pilates,” Margery giggled. “We’re not learning to rob anyone. It’s exercise.”

Margery explained the concept of Pilates to Olenna, who looked horrified. 

“It sounds like aerobic yoga,” Olenna shuddered. “I’m thankful I’m past the point of pulling myself like taffy. At my age, you’re lucky to get out of bed unscathed.”

“Uh-huh,” Margery said with a smirk. “You can keep up with the best of them and I won’t hear anything otherwise.”

“Well, darling, I’m not dead yet.”

After the girls finished their small meals, Olenna waved them on. 

“I’m going to stay and digest this roughage. You two go on, shop and stretch, enjoy your afternoon.”

Both girls pecked Olenna on the cheek and bustled off, full of plans for the afternoon. 

About twenty minutes after they left, Ned arrived. He came to Olenna’a table with a questioning look. 

“It seems you’ve already had your meal. Am I that late?”

“No, no. I had some early company, but they’ve been gone for quite some time.”

Ned settled across from Olenna. The server came to the table wearily, probably wondering what sort of orders Olenna would demand now. 

“Good afternoon, sir. May I offer you a beverage?”

“No, no thank you. I’m fine.”

As the sever hurried away, Ned smiled at Olenna. “Catelyn and I have dinner plans.”

“Oh, then I’ll make this quick. It wouldn’t do for you to bounce from meal to meal with two different women.”

Ned chuckled.

Olenna leaned forward.

“I have it on good authority that you’ve made some interesting discoveries regarding the late Joffrey Baratheon and the late Robert Baratheon. Well, we all suspected, of course, that Joffrey and Robert weren’t blood relation, however, you seem to have proof.”

Ned tilted his head as he studied Olenna. “Is there any particular reason you’re bringing this subject up?” 

Olenna smiled. “No denying it? No suggesting that I’m a feeble-minded old lady? Good for you, Ned Stark. I can see where your children get their spine.”

“From their mother, actually,” Ned told her. 

“I have no doubt that your wife is as noble as you are,” Olenna toasted him with her water glass. “I’m certain she’s also quite clever. After all, women must be twice as clever as men to only receive half the credit.”

“I’ll not argue that,” Ned said patiently. “Neither would my daughters.”

“Yes, your daughters! Such spirited young women. Your youngest, now she’s a fiery creature. It does my heart good to see it! Sansa has that fire as well, though hers is more refined...She and Margery suit one another very well in their friendship, I believe.”

“How is Margery?” Ned asked. “I hope she’s been handling the pressure all right. It’s never easy to lose someone, let alone losing someone while public eyes are heavily upon you.”

“She’s done well,” Olenna said mildly. “She’s another strong spirit, my Margery, perhaps in a different way. Always so calm and collected. It’s not been easy, I’ll grant you that, but she’s handling things quite well. Of course, that’s why I wanted to meet with you today.”

“I see,” Ned answered.

“Yes, I believe you do,” Olenna replied. “You understand what it will mean for Margery if this gets out, don’t you? She’s been through enough, and I only wish that you leave to matter to rest. Not forever, of course. Gods know that the Lannisters deserve any dressing down that they might get. Let’s just say that if you let this matter take a hiatus, I’ll be more than happy to supply you with some fodder of my own. In fact, I’ll be your champion. You get all the glory, I merely get the satisfaction of watching it all unfold.”

“I’m not doing this for glory or revenge. I’m doing it because it’s the right thing to do. So much corruption needs to be stopped. The tyranny of the Lannisters can finally come to an end.”

“And a sweet day that will be, Ned. I hope to personally see the look on Cersei’s face when she discovers that her own manipulations have brought her down. However, I simply ask that you wait until Margery has had time to grieve before you proceed with your plans.”

“Time to drain the bank account and move on, you mean.” Ned didn’t even blink.

“Oh, Ned. Be realistic. We don’t need the money that badly. Margery does deserve a bit of reparation, but nothing as dramatic as you would suggest.”

“How long of a waiting period did you have in mind?”

“A year.”

“A _year_? I’m sorry, that just isn’t going to work. Six months seems much more reasonable.”

“Ten months.”

“Nine months. That’s more than fair. _Much_ more than fair. I’ll honor your request for such extended time out of respect for your granddaughter. I’ve heard the rumors. It was likely a rough time for her.”

“It could have just as easily been your daughter, Ned.”

“As I said, I’ve heard the rumors.”

“Rumors are usually exaggerated. At the rate things were progressing, I have no doubt that Joffrey would have eventually killed Margery.”

“I’m glad she’s safe now.”

“As am I,” Olenna rose, and two guards were at her side immediately. “Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice. I trust that we are in agreement on what we discussed here today, and our agreement will stand?”

Ned looked pained, but nodded at Olenna. “You have my word.”

Olenna’s smile was more of a grimace. “The word of most people is worth less than a pile of shit. However, you’re not most people, you’re Ned Stark. I’ll take you at your word.”

Olenna arrived back home a few hours later. 

“How was your day?” Loras asked, as the two sat in the solar, watching the last of the summer sun set over Highgarden. 

“Satisfactory, for the most part. How was your day, my dear? Are you happy to be home?”

“I am,” Loras told her quietly. “Kings Landing can be too much at times. It’s good to be home, I think.”

Olenna nodded in agreement. 

“I think I’ll take a walk before bed,” Loras stood and kissed his grandmother on the cheek. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Olenna told him. She watched him walk away and a few minutes later, watched him pace the garden below. 

“Such a beautiful boy,” she murmured sadly. 

It was a shame that Loras was so unhappy. Olenna had hoped that his proliferation for his own kind was simply a phase. Then she’d hoped that perhaps Loras was simply a hedonist. After all, his beauty was admired by all, perhaps he was simply enjoying the pleasure and the beauty of his youth. 

Oh, but when that fling with that sodding Greyjoy lad had started, Olenna had dreaded the worst. It barely lasted three months, had ended just as abruptly as it had began. Loras had gotten lax in his discretions. If Olenna knew, it was likely that others did too. She was very relieved to hear that it was over so quickly. Much easier to brush off that way. 

She gazed down at Loras again, who was staring off into the distance. He really hadn’t been himself since Renly died, poor thing. Imagine loving your sister’s betrothed! Margery had handled it well, and then what happened next? She was thrown to the wolves with Joffrey. Loras had suffered a broken heart, but Margery had suffered her loss of pride. She had put aside her dignity, twice. 

Sansa Stark would be the one to tame Loras, Olenna had decided this at lunch today. Perhaps their marriage would never be traditional, but Loras wouldn’t mistreat Sansa. He’d respect her, and do his duty. Sansa was a gently bred young lady, but she was also smart, and had her own interests. The two could coexist in peace. They already seemed to enjoy a friendship, what more could a person want in a marriage?

Olenna would encourage Loras to pursue Sansa, and by the following Spring, she hoped their engagement could be announced. Perhaps Margery had been unlucky and failed to secure a Northern alliance thus far, but Loras marrying Sansa Stark could fix that.

“I’d like to see some great grandchildren before I pass on,” Olenna muttered to herself as she headed towards her bedroom. “After all, I’m not getting any younger.”


	36. Chapter 36

Sansa and Margery left their Pilates class, giggling like schoolgirls. 

“I can’t believe the instructor didn’t just go ahead and get your autograph,” Sansa chuckled as Margery’s car drove smoothly around the lot to pick them up.

“Me?” Margery batted her eyes. “Please, but honestly. She kept staring at you like she was trying to memorize you. Next time we see her she’ll have dyed her hair red. Gotten blue contacts...maybe she’ll find a way to lengthen herself a couple of inches.”

“That’s so weird, stop!” Sansa laughed as she climbed in the car after Margery.

Neither of them noticed Myranda, following slowly behind them. They hadn’t noticed her in class either, she’d made sure of it.   


Not that it had been difficult, Myranda thought, the two of them ignored anyone who didn’t have a name recognized across Westeros. 

“What a couple of ridiculous cunts,” Myranda muttered quietly as she rolled her eyes. 

Slinging her mat and bag into the passengers seat, Myranda climbed into the driver’s seat of Ramsay’s black Jaguar.

She went through her phone, checking the photos she’d surreptitiously captured of Sansa and Margery, sending the best ones to Ramsay. She then set to work deleting them, her mouth pursed in a distasteful frown.

Why Ramsay needed photos of Sansa in a Pilates class wasn’t clear to Myranda. She wasn’t sure she’d like the answer very much, so she refused to ask. 

Unfortunately for her, the answer actually came moments later. 

“Ring, size 5. King’s Jewelers. Money is on your card. I’ve arranged for a selection to be brought out, you pick the finest one. Don’t disappoint me.”

Myranda scowled blackly, rage seeping into every pore of her being. She actually had to count down from 30 to 1, breathing slowly.

As she drove to yet another errand centered around Sansa Fucking Stark, Myranda gained some satisfaction from one thought. A thought that she’d never admit aloud, or even think about too often. 

Sansa Stark was not going to consent to marrying Ramsay Bolton. 

How absurd that Ramsay believed in this stupid idea. For all his posh ways, Ramsay was still a second rate choice. Sure he was a shrewd, clever man, and he’d gotten a lot further than anyone expected, but he was still considered lower on the selection scale than he’d like to admit. Either he had gone completely mad, or he had grown dangerously ambitious. 

Ramsay and Myranda belonged together, and they could have a good life. Despite what he believed, Ramsay didn’t need more than what he already had to be happy.  


Unfortunately, Ramsay was obsessed with bettering himself, gaining his father’s approval, being someone. He wanted to be high in a tower, untouched by the world. Unless he was doing the touching. 

Myranda didn’t fit his ideal mold. She was born into an ordinary family, and apparently only good enough to be a girl that Ramsay fucked and ordered around. Why did she fucking put up with it? She sighed. She was as sick and twisted as Ramsay. Whether she had always been, or he’d made her that way, Myranda wasn’t sure. 

She sighed again as she pulled into a parking space and entered the jewelry store. She smiled and played her polite, sweet role, while choosing the classiest looking ring there. 

After purchasing it, Myranda drove straight to Ramsay’s place. 

Ramsay nearly pounced on her as soon as she walked in the door. 

“What took so long?” Ramsay demanded.

Myranda hadn’t taken a very long time at all. She had chosen the ring with no enthusiasm. She’d been in and out.

Myranda didn’t say any of this to Ramsay, of course. Wordlessly, she pulled out the small velvet box and handed it to Ramsay. 

He opened it and examined the ring. To her profound relief, he smiled. 

“It’s perfect,” Ramsay told her, eyes glowing. “You did well.”

“I’m so glad,” Myranda said tonelessly.

“Come here,” Ramsay told her. His eyes had changed from manic to lustful. 

“I’m taking a shower,” Myranda answered. She turned to walk away. 

“Myranda.” His voice was a warning tone.

“I believe I’ll take it at home,” Myranda continued on. “Maybe you should call Violet if you’re in the mood. Oh... but you _can’t_ , can you? Because she’s gone. For good.”

Ramsay covered the space between them in a few quick strides. 

“You _bitch_ ,” he growled, grabbing Myranda by the hair.

Myranda yelped as he jerked her head back, until she faced him.

“You’re lucky, do you understand? I’m the one who pays your bills. I’m the one who takes care of you. On your own, you have all the sophistication of a mug of beer. I _made_ you who you are. Don’t get so high upon your horse of indignation that you forget that.”

“I have a college degree, Ramsay. I’m capable of taking care of myself. I don’t _need_ you.”

Ramsay laughed. “Of course you do. You have a degree in _business_! What a fucking joke. You wouldn’t last a day in the real business world, doll. They’d eat you alive, unless you could secure your cunt to the right man. Face it baby, you were always going to end up as some man’s whore. It might as well be me.”

Myranda slapped him, hard.

“Fuck you,” she whispered. She didn’t speak from anger, but rather from soul-deep hurt. 

Ramsay noticed, and dropped her hair in surprise.

Myranda took that opportunity to flee. She raced toward the front door, her heart in her throat.

Ramsay caught up with her. He always did. 

He grabbed her and threw her against the wall, pinning her there, his forearms against hers. His hands gripped her wrists so tight that she began to lose feeling in her hands.

They stared at each other for a while, until they stopped panting. 

“Damn it,” Myranda fought to keep her tears at bay. “Just let me go. This is insane.”

Ramsay smirked. “Insane is our specialty.”

“I’m sick of it. I’m only good enough for your drudge work. I listen to your problems, help you with your dirty work, fuck you whenever you want. I’m the one who should be marrying you.”

Myranda regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. 

Ramsay cocked his head to the side. “Is that what you think? That we’ll be married?”

“No,” Myranda snapped. “You’ll always be keeping your options open for a wealthy heiress. I’m just your _whore_.”

Myranda tried to wrench free from his grasp, but she couldn’t. 

“Listen to me,” Ramsay told her. His expression was so serious that it scared Myranda. “This is the only time I’m saying what I am about to say, so heed my words.”

Myranda was rarely frightened. 

“I am marrying a wealthy heiress because that’s my duty. I do not, nor will I ever, love Sansa Stark. Or any woman.”

Myranda knew this, but it hurt more than she imagined to hear him say it out loud.

“However, if I _were_ able to love...” Ramsay studied Myranda’s face as he trailed off. His mouth closed and he looked at her with something she couldn’t quite identify. He almost looked...vulnerable.

Myranda cursed herself even as her heart swooped with stupid, stupid hope.

“You’re _mine_ ,” Ramsay finally growled from clenched teeth, his eyes glittering like ice chips. “You. Are. Mine. Do you understand?”

For the first time, Myranda felt as if she did understand. She understood him, and it was terrifying, elating, frustrating. 

“Yes,” she finally answered, softly. 

Ramsay shoved the ring into his pocket. He looked a bit lost, for just a moment. 

Myranda relaxed her arms. Both of them were a bit bruised. Ramsay’s face bore red imprint from Myranda’s hand. 

She reached up to caress the mark. Ramsay watched her warily. 

“Come to bed,” she told him. “I’ll make it better. Or worse. Whichever.”

Ramsay began to look more himself, which was a relief to Myranda.  
  


_Enough_ , she told herself as she followed Ramsay to the bedroom. 

She had him now, and that would have to be enough. 

In bed, Myranda rode him hard and fast. She scratched and bit, let him take her from behind like an animal. She let him grip her hard enough to bruise. To mark her as his own.  


Gods, it was _good_. It was always so good.   


Ramsay always fucked desperately, like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth. Maybe it was. 

“Get on your knees”, he told Myranda with a gasp. 

Myranda obeyed. 

“Open your mouth”.

She took his cock in her mouth, drank him like communion. Used her tongue to clean him. 

Ramsay groaned as he fell back into the bed. 

“If you think I could do that with anyone like Sansa Stark you’re out of your head.” Ramsay panted and stared at her with dazed eyes.

Myranda smiled. It _was_ enough. 

For now.

Meanwhile, in Highgarden, another lover’s quarrel was playing out. 

However, this one was doomed for a quick and unhappy ending. 

“What do you mean, _pictures_?” Loras gripped his phone, staring out into the garden. His eyes darted around, looking for any ears that may be near.

“I mean he showed up at my office, and handed me an envelope full of pictures. They’re...pretty compromising. Not easily explained.”

“Gods,” Loras groaned. “How the fuck did he even get those? No, you know what? It doesn’t matter. Ramsay Bolton is a complete psychopath. I’m sure I don’t want to know how he got them.”

“Agreed,” Theon told him. “But now what?”

“Well, we do as he says.”

“Loras...”

“Theon. It had to end sometime.”

“That doesn’t make it any easier.”

Loras stared up at the manor. A hundred yards away, his grandmother sat on the terrace, laughing with some friends.

“No, it doesn’t. But it’s what we have to do.”

“So, Ramsay wins.”

“Yes, he wins. He wins his pursuit of Sansa without our interference. That’s all he wins.”

Theon made a frustrated noise. 

“Sansa doesn’t deserve the likes of him.”

“She’ll never agree to it. And her parents won’t force it. She knows she can do better. It just won’t be either of us.”

“Pity,” Loras could feel Theon’s smile through the phone. “She is such a reasonable, understanding person. Unless you really piss her off.”

“She deserves more than a farce of a marriage.”

“I hate to tell you this, but that’s exactly what Ramsay said.”

“Marriage to Ramsay would be a farce of another kind. But he isn’t wrong about one thing. She does deserve better. It’s not us, and it’s certainly not him. Sansa deserves a real, true love.”

Silence hung heavy between the two of them.

“ _This_ isn’t love, is it?” Theon sounded defeated. 

“I don’t know,” Loras admitted. “It’s better that we don’t find out. Don’t call me, Theon. When you see me out somewhere, look the other way. If you can’t do that for your own benefit, do it for me. Do it for Sansa.”

“ _Loras_ -“

“Goodbye, Theon,” Loras said gently.   


He ended the call and stared out at the acres of roses without really seeing any of them.


End file.
